A Day, A Year, A Lifetime
by eleanorc
Summary: I've so wanted Edith to take a stand, especially this season! So this is my take on what Edith and Anthony would and should do, starting after Episode 3.3. (Spoiler Alert!) First FanFic, so bear with me, please. Starts out T, may get a little M later. (And obviously I own nothing...)
1. A Day

Ch. 1 – A day

The floorboards of her room were terribly creaky. Edith had never noticed before. She'd never spent a great deal of time in her room other than to sleep. Growing up, she'd always felt confined enough wandering the extensive grounds of Downton, let alone within the four solid walls she paced between now. And later, if she could manage it she was always at Locksley with Anthony, or in the village, or on a drive. Just this morning she'd had the promise of a life with him. Now here she was again, in this room, in this house. She felt sick with loss all over again.

The moon was high and bright, illuminating the space when she so badly longed for darkness. It laid a silver hand over the familiar rugs and her messed bed, and the mirror she'd stood before that very morning with her sisters, when she was so full of love and happiness she thought she may burst. Her closets had mostly been emptied, her spring clothes being packed for the honeymoon. Her vanity, once full of perfumes and jewelry and hairbrushes, was now bare. Her wedding dress had been removed by Anna, along with any other reminders of the day. Her room now seemed as silent and dull and hollow as she felt.

"Anthony," she muttered, feeling another surge of tears coming on, "Anthony, Anthony." Climbing back into the bed, Edith buried herself in the sheets, wishing she could drown in them, and cried until physical exhaustion mercifully forced her to sleep.

Breakfast the following morning was silent, everyone in the household afraid to move as though it may unleash some of the disappointment of poor Edith's wedding. Even Cora, Mary, and Sybil joined the gentlemen rather than having trays in their rooms. There was a sense that they needed to be together to get by. They were reverent, restrained, and utterly at a loss. When Edith entered the dining room, everyone looked absolutely stricken. She ignored their pitying stares.

"You came down," Mary stated dumbly, unsure of what else to say to Edith.

"Yes. As I said to Anna, the spinster aunt always takes breakfast with the family," Edith muttered bitterly. She was dressed, but her hair was in an untidy knot and she wore no makeup or jewelry. Cora pulled a chair out near her, gesturing for her daughter to sit, but instead Edith walked to the buffet and helped herself to a cup of tea.

"How are you holding up, Sister?" Sybil asked tentatively. Edith cast a withering glance at the inane question.

"Well," said Matthew, attempting to be protective over his sister-in-law, "I say dash the coward. If I ever come across him, Edith, I'll—" but Edith cut him short, slamming her cup and plate down on the table, causing everyone to jump as tea splashed onto the linen.

"Don't you dare say one word against Anthony," she warned, her voice low and raw. Tears immediately welled over her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.

Robert threw his napkin onto the table and leant back. "Surely you aren't defending what he's done?"

"You have no idea do you, any of you, what Anthony's done?" She asked, looking at each of them incredulously. "Anthony loves me, desperately. He's told me and shown me so many different ways. But none of you see that, and he's never, ever believed he deserves me. And why should he? When you've all done your best to prove he's right. Still you give him no credit." She paused, ensuring they might hear her. "He chose yesterday to leave, the way he did, because he knew the scandal and the embarrassment would insure I couldn't pursue him afterward. He exposed himself to scorn and ridicule and denigration, and probably lost the few friends he valued, because he believed I could and should do better than to marry him."

"Please don't be angry with the world, my Darling," Cora tried, but Edith stopped her.

"I'm not angry with the world. I'm angry with you," she said through tears of ire and frustration and heartbreak. "I spent months, years even, trying to convince Anthony that I love him. He is the best person I've known. He is monumentally kind, and gentle, and patient, and he noticed me when the rest of you cast me aside. He appreciates and encourages me, which is more than you've ever done. And what did he earn with his love and goodness? Your contempt. He deserves infinitely better than what you've all done by him."

She took in the surprise in their expressions and laughed derisively. "Do you think I don't know? The comments and the jabs: Granny always asking if he can keep up; Mary's coldness; the way you all refer to him as 'Old Sir Anthony, dull as paint;' Papa refusing to say he's happy for us." She gestured to each culprit as she quoted them. "You were all so determined he was wrong for me, you convinced him of it as well. And to what end? Do I look happy now? Is this what you wanted for me?"

Edith clutched at her stomach in an unmistakable gesture of grief and pain, looking away as she momentarily lost the battle with her shattering sobs. Cora reached out for Robert as she fought her own tears, and a quick glance around the table found everyone else in much the same state. Mary, Violet, and Robert were brave enough to watch as Edith broke down. The rest stared into their laps, taking in her words.

When she was able, Edith turned back to them and said in an impossibly small voice, "As long as I live there will never be a thing on this earth I love so well as Anthony Strallan, and you've frightened him away. Probably forever."

No one dared speak as Edith finished. She braced herself against the end of the dining room table with two white fists and hung her head in exhaustion and sorrow. She didn't try to stop the tears that fell from her face onto the table. After a moment she looked up with new resolve. She wiped quickly at her face and took a single breath to steady her voice.

"I want to go to London," she demanded firmly. "I don't want to open the house, I want my own small place, only a maid and a cook will be necessary. I'd like to take Anna with me as lady's maid and housekeeper, if she'll come. Perhaps she won't mind being closer to Mr. Bates. And I don't want to see any of you for a while."

"What will you do in London?" Lord Grantham asked. He didn't attempt to argue with her, and his visage was undeniably sad.

"Anything I can to feel useful and to distract myself from the fact that I have lost everything I hold dear," Edith replied, her tone grave and scornful, her message absolute.

"Edith, darling, I am so, so" Mary began in a whisper but Edith cut her short with a simple, "Don't" before stalking out of the room.

It was decided by supper that Edith would leave within the week, Anna as her escort. Lord Grantham contacted George Murray to inquire after properties and was very lucky to find that the Hammond family was leasing a 'modest' place near the Crawley London house. Robert made all of the arrangements himself.

Most important to him of these arrangements was Anna. "Please," he pleaded with her in the library, "I implore you. Go to London with Edith, see to her needs whatever they may be. We don't want her wallowing alone. Your main responsibility is her. If you find you need someone else to manage the rest, we will arrange it. Just see to it that she isn't alone."

"I promise, your Lordship. You needn't worry."

"She won't suffer," he said, half demand and half plea.

Anna, ever wise and gentle cocked her head slightly and assured, "She won't suffer alone, milord. Never."


	2. Biding Time

Edith would reinvent herself. It was the only plausible conclusion she could come to that didn't end in her utter destruction. Without Anthony, she was lost. She loathed admitting it, feeling she'd gained so much independence during the war, but it was true. Every plan she'd made in the last years involved him, and now every one of them was shattered, invalid, gone.

She'd have to start over, or release every idea she had about her former self, if she had any hope at all for a future. Anything involving marriage would be entirely out of the question, of course. Any prospect would be a false version of Anthony, a sort of wrong mirror image, a lie. Marriage to anyone other than him would be a half-life.

No, if she were to have any hope of happiness she would find an entirely new direction.

"Perhaps I'll become a secretary," she mused to Anna, watching the new middle class going about their day as Belford weaved the car through London traffic. "Or I could illustrate children's books. Or perhaps work for Cousin Isobel, helping fallen women." She turned to Anna with a sardonic smile and said, "Or perhaps I'll just become a fallen woman myself."

Anna patted her lady's hand. She wasn't used to sitting in the back of the motor, but Edith had insisted. Anna would have refused on grounds of propriety, but remembering Lord Grantham's request, gave in.

"Or maybe I'll just lock myself away, refusing all company, and drink all day until I've sufficiently wasted my life."

"If that's your intention, Milady, I ought to tell Mrs. Bass to stop buying food and rather pass the budget on gin," Anna said dryly. Edith laughed, but her laughter quickly dissolved into tears as her brave façade cracked. She fought them briefly before giving in. She collapsed her face into Anna's skirt and allowed herself to be rightly miserable while Anna rubbed her arm and pet her hair and hummed a sweet little melody.

When they arrived at the house her father had rented, Edith sat up and rolled her eyes. A three-story connected home on the edge of the park, it was not quite the modest retreat she'd had in mind.

"Two weeks ago we were ready to pack up the house and sell the pots for extra cash. Now that Matthew's come to the rescue, they think twelve rooms covers the bare necessities," she scoffed, wiping the last of her tears from her swollen face.

"Let's get you settled," Anna suggested, avoiding comment on His Lordship's expensive taste.

"Don't bother opening the top floor. No one will be visiting," Edith sighed, stepping out of the motor. "And Anna, please pick a room for yourself on the main. It's ridiculous for you to freeze away below stairs when there's half a dozen rooms right down the hall."

"Oh I couldn't," Anna began to protest, but Edith stopped her.

"You can, and you must."

"Very good, Milady," Anna sighed, giving the heartbroken Edith whatever she wanted. She was under strict instructions to ensure Edith got what she needed. But no one, not the Crawleys nor Anna knew yet what that entailed.

The entire first week, Edith never left her room. She spent a great deal of time sleeping, and crying, and she hardly spoke or ate. Anna sat with her in a reverent silence, rarely leaving her side. When Edith needed holding, Anna sat on the bed beside her. When she needed space, Anna worked on her needlepoint or wrote to Mr. Bates at the desk in Edith's room. The only activity Edith took was writing; one letter every day to Sir Anthony. Sometimes they were long and sometimes short, but every evening Anna walked down to the corner to post them.

When the initial anguish began to feel lonely, Edith took to sitting in the kitchen with Mrs. Bass and Anna, watching them going about their chores. She would ask questions and talk about little things, she never mentioned Anthony. At first Mrs. Bass was uncomfortable; a Lady lingering in the kitchen was unheard of. But after a week or so, Mrs. Bass said, "Well if you're going to wear a dent in that chair you might as well be of some use to someone," and put Edith to work.

Mrs. Bass showed Edith how to polish flatware, how to break asparagus at the neck, and brew tea, and pit cherries for a crisp. Then how to clean a bird or bake a cake, how to cut onions with a cold knife to avoid tears and to soak your hands in lemon to mask the smell of garlic. When Edith wasn't learning to cook, Anna showed her how to mend a button or hem a skirt. Edith talked with them about politics and the vote, and each morning they went through the newspapers together.

But every day at noon, Edith sat at the desk in the study to write her letter to Sir Anthony, and every evening Anna still posted them on the corner. It never changed. Sometimes Edith would return with her letter, her face puffy and red from crying, and hand it to Anna with shaking hands. Other days she would thrust it into Anna's care with anger and frustration and stalk off to be by herself for a bit.

Never once did Edith receive a letter from him in return, and Anna's heart broke each time the mail came and Edith's face fell just slightly. She'd hear from her sisters and mother, from Granny and occasionally Aunt Rosamund, but she only ever replied to Cora. She always said that she was doing well, keeping busy, and to give the rest of the family her love.

After several months, Edith began writing to the papers again, her editorials getting more popular and being published more regularly. Mr. Anders of the Chronicle approached her about being a regular columnist for the women's paper he ran, and she jumped at the opportunity despite her family's protests. She began writing about everything from suffrage to India to labor, and threw herself into her work. And when she wasn't studying or writing politics, she was helping Anna track down information on Mr. Bates' case. After a time the color returned to her cheeks and some of her former self seemed to come back.

And so Edith passed six months, never once forgetting her letter to Sir Anthony. But everything changed when Bates was acquitted freed from prison. Anna no longer wanted to stay in London, and Edith was finding it more and more difficult to avoid her familial obligations. She'd been home just once when Sybil had the baby, and her mother had been to visit twice against Edith's will.

Anna cried when she told Edith, "I'm so sorry, Milady, but Mr. Bates will be returning to Downton as his Lordship's valet, and I couldn't bear to be without him."

"Anna, you needn't explain. Of course I don't expect you to stay," Edith said, taking Anna's hand. "You've been very, very good to me. I don't think I could ever repay you for the last months."

"You needn't repay me, Milady. I'm just glad to see you're feeling better."

Anna bobbed and turned to go but Edith, who had never been a particularly affectionate person with anyone but Anthony, suddenly pulled her into a hug. "Thank you. For being my friend, the only one I've ever had really," Edith whispered into her ear before releasing her.

Their last night in the house, Edith made dinner for Mrs. Bass, who deemed it a "right treat," and the three of them giggled late into the evening like young girls at the end of a summer holiday. When it was time to say goodnight, Edith felt an overwhelming sadness. "Tomorrow I'll be back in that great, cold house with all those married people and the ghosts I've spent the past half-year trying to forget. It will be dinners and parties, and Edith will you please do this, and I think I might suffocate."

"You're a strong girl. Didn't give you credit for it at first, but you've got a real meat to your bones. Don't let them push you around," Mrs. Bass said in her gruff way, laying one calloused hand under Edith's chin before bustling up the stairs for bed.

"She's fond of you, you know," Anna muttered. She looked ten years younger than when they came to London. The joy at Bates' freedom and their future together, husband and wife, together at Downton, well it showed on her features. She was illuminated, relaxed, and very nearly giddy.

Edith smiled at her, but failed to mask the creeping sadness she'd been fighting. "You'll be alright, Milady," Anna said suddenly. "You've worked hard while we've been here, to kindle that light in you. You lost it when Sir Anthony left, I know. But you've got some of it back now. Don't let anyone put it out again."

It didn't take long for Edith to settle into the routine back home. She ate breakfast with the gentlemen; being unmarried she felt no right to a tray in bed. She worked in the vegetable garden sometimes and spent a fair amount of time below stairs, toiling with Mrs. Patmore, much to her father's dismay, and often went for long rides on her old mare, Calliope. She avoided driving for the most part, but would run errands to Ripon if anyone asked her to. She was compliant, pleasant, even angelic.

Sybil and Cora had conspired with Anna to surprise Edith for Christmas. They converted one of the old storage rooms upstairs into a studio for Edith's use, complete with drawing desk, plenty of light, a little wood stove, and a round window with a view of the orchards.

Always on her best behavior, no one bothered her when she'd retreat to the attic after luncheon to draw or write; editorials, articles, opinions, the occasional story, and always, always her letter to Anthony. She never failed. Even when a severe head cold kept her in bed for a week, she shuffled up to her little hideaway each afternoon.

"I think," she wrote to Sir Anthony one day in February, when the sky was so dark from heavy clouds that she bent low over her paper to see her own words, "That I may cope now, though just barely. I've failed, for a long while now, to see the point in living without you. I admit there are days when I wake and am so saddened without you beside me that I fail to get out of bed. But those days are fewer now. I am living, though only as much as the leaves on the ground in autumn—lifeless and still until the wind comes and blows me along. I just wait, each day, for the next gust that will get me through.

"It's easy enough to keep busy, reading or studying or playing the dutiful spinster aunt. But at night when the house grows still I'm so restless with missing you I think I'll go mad. When I'm lucky, I dream that somehow everything is changed, and we're together—in the park or the car or the church, and-even better-in bed. Those mornings are the most cruel, when I reach over to you in half-sleep and find nothing but icy sheets.

"My darling, darling Anthony. Each time I think I'm getting on I see a book or hear a phrase or have some errant thought that brings you to mind and with a sharp ache I realize I love you now more than ever. I worry about you constantly. I wonder if you're being kind to yourself, taking care to be well and healthy, I worry that you aren't sleeping enough or that you're punishing yourself with solitude. I know through the town line that you've taken on a man to manage Locksley, which frightens me worst of all.

"I don't know if you read these letters. Part of me wishes that you do and the other feels deep down that if you had read them you would have come to me already. Be well, my dear man, for my sake and yours. I'm ever hopeful that sometime in the future we will be together again."

She cried, then, which she hadn't done in quite a while, and signed it, "Eternally yours, Edith."


	3. The Inevitable

The inevitable happened quite unexpectedly the following May. The Crawleys were in town for the season opening, calling on and being called on as was custom. Edith couldn't stand any of it, but she managed her best behavior. Despite nearly a year passing, there was still the occasional whisper or titter about her botched wedding, but she was impervious to such minor things now. She followed, silently and dutifully, as her parents and Matthew and Mary smiled and graced and charmed. Everyone they visited was used to Edith fading into the wallpaper, as she had done since she was a child, so it was easy enough for her to get by.

One day, however, Matthew announced an invitation to visit an old college chum of his, a Mr. Lester. "It seems," he said over luncheon, "He has recently been married and they're living in on the East side of Eden Park. He's running his own firm now, doing estate law I believe. He's invited all of us to dinner tomorrow evening, if you're amenable."

Lord Grantham seemed less than thrilled but decided, "perhaps it couldn't hurt to speak with a man who knows estate business." And so the next night Edith found herself once again ushered into a motor with Matthew and Mary, following behind Mama and Papa in their own, being dragged to another 'pleasant' dinner with people she had no interest in.

"Do try to say at least one thing, Edith. You might find you like the Lesters. They're our age, not at all stuffy like Papa's friends," Mary said. She wasn't being critical, but rather almost encouraging. Ever since Edith's accusing speech that day at breakfast, Mary had been trying to make amends. She knew, deep down, that she really did share a large hand in Edith's misery, and that she'd spend her life trying to make up for it. It was easier being generous with Edith now that Mary had her own husband and her happiness was secured.

"I don't mind stuffy, really. I'm just no good at light conversation," Edith sighed, watching the street pass outside her window. Realizing how dejected she sounded, she turned to her sister and managed a small smile. "I'm sorry I'm so dull, really I am. I promise I'll make an effort." Inside, Edith was already exhausted by the whole thing, and longing for her bed and a heavy book.

She was already searching the library, mentally perusing the shelves for the thickest and most tedious novel she could find, when they were welcomed into the foyer of the Lester house by an unusually rotund butler. She was contemplating Dickens and Tolstoy and Melville as they were led into the study, and so was not listening as the introductions were made.

Mary's frantic but subtle grip on her wrist finally brought Edith to attention. Her head snapped up just as Mr. Lester was saying, "And this is Sir Anthony Strallan. In fact you may know each other. I believe you're from the same county."

Edith's gaze, as though all time slowed to practically nothing, traveled from her family's pale, stoic faces, to the Lesters' unknowing, jovial smiles, to the other guests who were paying no mind, and finally to poor Anthony. He was standing near the great mantle in the back of the room, next to Mrs. Lester, holding a glass of brandy. His face did nothing to hide the shock and remorse and embarrassment he felt. His mouth was slightly open and frowning, his eyes wide in horror.

Edith's heart seemed to have stopped beating altogether as the reality of the situation sank in, and her mind struggled to comprehend. But when her eyes finally, excruciatingly, met Anthony's, her heart nearly burst as it started madly all at once. She was afraid it might be audible to the entire party as it thrummed painfully against her ribs. The memory of that moment when he turned to her, there at the church, destroying at once the only true happiness she'd known, it all came flooding back now. Anthony's eyes bore the exact expression they had that day at the altar.

And in that instant, there in the salon at the Lesters' with her family standing in astonishment, Edith was more certain than ever that she loved him. Every bit of turmoil and anger simply fell away—anger towards Anthony and her family, towards herself, every ounce of self-loathing. None of it mattered.

It seemed as though the entire room took a collective breath, and Anthony finally offered half an embarrassed smile. "Are you acquainted?" Mrs. Lester asked. Edith was relieved, as with everyone in her party, to find that the exchange went relatively unnoticed by those who were not involved.

"Indeed," Sir Anthony finally spoke, though Edith recognized the panic in his pitch and volume. "We are, em, acquainted, yes."

"Sir Strallan is my newest client," Mr. Lester said by way of introduction. "His account was what allowed me to go into business for myself. We're very grateful to him."

"Is that so?" Lord Grantham finally said, gracefully trying to ease the tension and move the evening forward.

Mary, who was still holding onto Edith, was not so quick to put on airs. She did not mask her incredulity well. "We're all grateful to Sir Anthony for many fond memories, aren't we?"

Sir Anthony nodded quickly, apologetically, and turned to Mrs. Lester. "I'm so sorry, Margaret. I'm afraid I've spoiled your evening. Please, do forgive me, but I must run."

"Oh, no, Sir Anthony you mustn't," Mr. Lester tried, but Anthony was already half-way to the door.

"Afraid something's just occurred to me. Must dash. I'm terribly sorry," he muttered as he swept across the room. In order to leave he had to brush past the Crawleys, still standing in the entrance, Edith closest to the door.

He paused, so briefly it was nearly imperceptible, as he passed her. He avoided her eyes, but took a stuttering breath only Edith heard as he rushed out into the hall.

"What on earth came over the poor chap?" Lester mused. Lord and Lady Grantham stepped forward, initiating polite conversation in hopes of moving on and changing the subject, but Matthew and Mary watched Edith, waiting for her to crumble.

"Excuse me," Edith said, surprising herself with her placidity. She didn't offer any ill-conceived reasons for her departure, nor did she run from the room in hysterics. She simply broke Mary's grip, looked her pointedly in the eye to ensure she wouldn't be followed, turned on her heel, and left.

The moment she was free from view, however, she broke into a full run, passing through the great hall without caution and startling the waiting footmen. He barely had time to enquire after her coat before she'd opened the door for herself and burst out into the evening.

She'd hoped he would be waiting for his car to come around, but he must've known she would follow. Looking left, and then right, he was nowhere to be seen. A renewed loss overwhelmed her, the first tears she'd shed in months coming all too quickly. And then she saw him, across the street in the park, briefly illuminated by a street lamp as he rushed in the opposite direction.

She smiled, out of relief that she might still catch him, and out of affection for his above-average height. She might never have spotted a lesser man. She was about to take off after him when a hand seized her by the shoulder.

"Please, Edith, don't do this to yourself," Robert hissed. She turned to him, conveying in the briefest glance both pleading and withering astonishment. Then she shook free, almost violently, and took off running.

Of all the million things going through her mind as she followed after Anthony, the strangest was her delight that she'd recently given up on high-heeled footwear, failing to see the point of it anymore. Her satin slippers were not ideal, of course, but it could have been much worse. Vaguely aware that her father was keeping pace behind her, she widened her stride.

And as she caught up with Sir Anthony her world shrank to the paved walk of the deserted park, awash in light from the bright moon and the periodic lamps. He turned when he heard her footfall and waited, knowing full well she'd follow him across the whole of London until she spoke with him.

When she came to a stop several feet before him, she was breathless and adrenaline surged through her. "What, what" she tried, gasping for air.

"I am so deeply and irretrievably sorry," he said preemptively. "I have avoided every invitation I've received this season, but Lester would not accept my refusal, and I believed you had no connection. Had I any clue at all there was the slightest chance of this happening, I would never have come. I would never disrespect you or your family that way, I hope you understand that."

"Do you know," she said between deep breaths, "how tired I am of watching you walk away?" He did not respond, but did look incredibly sorry as he waited for her to catch her breath. He didn't dare speak another word.

Neither of them seemed to notice or care when Robert came to a stop in the near distance. He had no intention of leaving Edith to fight this out on her own, and he had half a mind to strike Anthony after it was all out anyway.

"Have you read my letters?" Edith asked.

Anthony shook his head shamefully. "No, I couldn't bear it. I have them all, three-hundred-and-thirty-seven, but they are unopened."

"Why?"

"Because if they were angry, nothing in them could be worse than what I felt about myself, and if they were kind it would be so incredibly undeserved. And because I am a coward." His good hand swung into the air in front of him in a clutching, desperate gesture as he growled through clenched teeth, "I am a coward!"

"No," Edith said softly. "You have been afraid, you are not a coward."

"Don't; please don't be generous with me. I haven't earned it." He voice changed from authoritative to pleading. "How will I ever explain?"

"You'll never have to," she said more boldly, risking another step closer to him.

"No, please Edith, you have to know that I, that everything I've done… I was wrong to behave the way I did, but it was for you. It was all for you."

"I know, Anthony. Of course I know that, and I'm not angry. Not at all."

"I have no right at all to ask your forgiveness, and I never would."

"I forgave you the moment you walked out of the church," she interrupted, her voice raised in passion. She even smiled at him.

"How?" He managed, though his voice cracked and his shoulders sank.

"Because," she said with a shrug. "Because I love you. I always have done and I always will do. Because you are the only person in the world I rely on. Because I know you to be the best and most noble man to walk the earth."

Earl Grantham took a step forward, ready to intervene, anger burning inside him. How could Edith be so shameless, so utterly lacking in dignity and self-respect? In that moment he never felt more separate from her, more foreign to everything about his middle daughter.

But Anthony beat him to the punch. "Edith, you are so wrong. I am an old and selfish man, and a fool."

"Being foolish and being a fool are not the same thing," she countered. "You have acted foolishly, no doubt, but you are no fool. And nothing you say or do will change my mind about you."

"I would never, could never deserve you."

"Could you at least try?" she begged, her voice small and honest. "I hate to beg, Anthony, but I'm not a proud person nor terribly resilient. Please, I ask that you consider having me because there is no one else and there never will be."

Earl Grantham was absolutely blown. After all the misery she'd suffered the past year, to watch her beg for this old man's attention, well it was almost sickening. "I don't believe this," he muttered. Anthony's expression of shock seemed to match his own as they both tried to argue with Edith. But she wasn't having it.

"No. I want you to hear this," she declared. Turning to her father she said pointedly, "Both of you." And both gentlemen waited while she took a reaffirming breath. "I want to be understood. I have paid my dues. I have bided my time. For the past year, I have kept busy and been social and acquiescent. I have been exposed to all manner of man, nearly anyone under the age of forty Mother and Granny could scrounge up. I have played fairly.

"And still I love Anthony with every part of myself. More than ever, really, because I have had every suitor in London to compare him to, and none know me or appreciate me so well as he. I have forgiven you, all of you.

"I'm not angry or bitter. But I am certain, absolutely certain that a life without Anthony is a half-life, one that will be manageable but unfulfilled. There will never be another for me so long as I live, and I hope this is clear now, after the past year. I hope you will all trust and accept this as fact and stop waiting for me to move on to something better, because I don't know how else to prove to you that there is nothing better for me."

She turned squarely to Anthony now, addressing him directly. "There is no one better than you, Anthony. No one. Not for me."

Her speech finally over, Edith was nearly spent. She finally allowed herself to shed some of the tears she'd been fighting in fear of losing her resolve. Anthony, likewise, did not mask the welling in his eyes as they stood, staring at each other in silence. What neither of them noticed, or cared to notice, was that the Earl, in a very rare moment of utter sensibility, was tearing up himself.

"And what," Anthony finally said after a long moment, "do you propose we do? I have destroyed everything. We can't go back, we can't undo the scandal, the mess I've made of things."

"Of course we can't. But time moves on, and so will we."

"But the gossip, the talk, everyone at the wedding," he stuttered.

"Blast them all," Edith said with a laugh, feeling brave for her cursing. "I don't give a rip what anyone thinks. We will be together, we'll face them all together, we'll forget all about our lost year, and in time so will everyone else."

"What can I ever do to deserve you?"

"For God's sake, stop asking yourself that question and simply trust that you do."

"And how can I ever make it up to you? What I did, well it's unforgiveable."

"Nothing you could do is unforgiveable, my dear, dear man. And if you want to make it up to me, you'll take me and kiss me now. Because the only thing in the world my happiness depends on is being with you."

And so, making the easiest decision of his life, Anthony Strallan strode forward, hooked Edith around her waist with his left arm, lifted her off her feet, and kissed her. It was an important kiss, monumentally so. It was deep, fervent, desperate, but most of all, it conveyed a year's worth of longing, of loss, and a lifetime of promise.

The Earl of Grantham watched as his middle daughter, his poor jilted Edith, laced her arms around the neck of the man she loved. He watched as their lips eventually parted and their foreheads met and they both laughed and cried and whispered fervent promises to one another.

"We've lost so much time," Anthony said regrettably.

"Anthony, darling, I was practically a child when we first met. I'm only twenty-seven. We have a lifetime ahead of us. And even if we didn't, one minute with you with the promise of more would almost be enough."

"I love you, my dearest darling. I love you very, very much. I'm sorry I didn't have more faith in you," he said. And he kissed her again, softly and gently, and again, and again.


	4. A Walk in the Park

When Anthony set Edith back on her feet, Robert cleared his throat awkwardly, suddenly feeling very much in the way. Anthony and Edith turned to him apprehensively, but Anthony met the Earl's eyes with renewed confidence and assuredness, which pleased Robert to no end.

Whatever may come down the road, whatever decision his daughter had made, Robert wanted her to be fulfilled and cared for. A year ago he wasn't at all certain Sir Anthony was the man to do it, but tonight he realized two things. The first, that whatever he thought his daughter needed he'd been mistaken, and two, that Anthony was far more resilient, self-sacrificing, and in love with Edith than he'd ever given him credit for in the past.

"This has proved to be quite a remarkable evening," Robert said dryly. "I don't wish to keep you, as I'm sure you have much to discuss. Let me just say this, if I may." He looked at Edith, his chest swelling with pride for her. She knew herself, and never lost her resolve. Perhaps there was more of himself in her than he recognized. "I always thought you could do better, Edith, and I worried for your future. I recognize that I underestimated you. Both of you. And for that I am deeply sorry. I didn't realize how," but words failed him. "At any rate, I apologize."

"Lord Grantham," Anthony said, his voice firm and clear. "I would like permission to marry your daughter."

Robert almost laughed. After the display they'd just shown, the absolute catastrophe everyone had made of things, Strallan still held to convention and decorum enough to ask for Edith's hand. With a shake of his head the Earl said, "My permission, my blessing, and my most sincere welcome to the family. And you might consider calling me Robert."

It was decided that Anthony and Edith would walk to Grantham House, cutting through the park, and the rest of the Crawleys would join them there following supper. "And if you'd be so kind," Anthony asked, putting his coat over Edith's shoulders, "To send my driver over as well. He'll be rather surprised."

"As will they all," Robert conceded, turning back for the Lesters'.

There was time to sort everything out. A lifetime of it, now, Edith was sure. And so they walked, her arm around his waist, his around her shoulders, in blissful silence. The night was cool but pleasant, the park deserted and serene, and the relief and comfort each of them felt was finally sinking in.

"May I ask just one thing?" Anthony finally spoke as they neared the West gate.

"If you must."

"How on earth, my darling Edith, did you ever become so… irrepressible?" She blushed a little from his flattery, looking down as he watched her and waited for a response.

"Because of you."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Before I knew you, I was just Edith. Ignored by practically everyone and forever jealous of my sisters, I was terribly empty. But then you took me on that first drive—do you remember?—and you noticed me, truly noticed. When Mary sent you away—"

"It wasn't Mary, darling. It was the War," Anthony interrupted. Edith noted to herself she'd have to apologize to Mary all over again and continued.

"Well, when you went away, I was so afraid of being invisible again. But I wasn't. I held my head up and worked hard; I learned to drive, I kissed a farmer, I dressed battle wounds. I came into myself, in a way, because every time I felt inadequate or undeserving, I thought of you, and what you would say to me, and I was fortified."

"You give me far too much credit."

"I disagree, but we have time to argue about it."

"Indeed, my dearest, we do."

Edith and Anthony called for a tray from a rather startled-looking Carson and while they waited, Edith found Anna to tell her their news. After all they'd been through together the past year, Edith felt it was only right she should be among the first to know. Anna cried, which touched Edith in a part of her soul she didn't know she had until she met Anthony.

After eating what they could, which wasn't much because of the excitement, Edith and Anthony waited in the front parlor for the family, making plans for their future. Together. Edith could still hardly believe it.

When the cars arrived, Edith was suddenly tense with apprehension. "Not to worry," Anthony reassured. "I won't make the same mistake twice. This time I will fight for you." His voice was firm, fierce, and his grip on Edith's hand solid.

But it wasn't necessary. Cora came in first, her arms held wide. "Oh my dears, my dears, congratulations," she sang, hugging Edith and squeezing Sir Anthony's hand. Matthew seemed genuinely glad for them as well, joking, "I'm drafting a guidebook on marrying a Crawly. Care for a copy?"

Only Mary was slightly reserved. Simply offering that well-practiced smile, she said, "I'm pleased for you both," before helping herself to a nightcap.

"And tell me, what are your plans?" Cora asked, pulling Edith and Anthony down to the settee beside her.

"We'd like to be married right away," Edith began. "Any sort of fuss would seem inappropriate and unnecessary."

"I agree," Cora said, suddenly all business.

"We'd like to keep it as small as possible. Just you four, Anna and Bates, Carson and Mrs. Hughes if they'd like, given they've known me since I was crawling. I don't want Granny or Aunt Rosamund, and Sybil won't make it over in time."

"Oh good heavens," Mary interjected. "Who is going to tell Granny?"

"I'll do it," Robert offered, sinking heavily into one of the great armchairs. "She's too dependent on me to commit real harm."

"No," Edith said thoughtfully. "I think I'll do it. I'd like the satisfaction."

"You're a braver man than I," Matthew said wryly."

"And when is this small wedding to take place?" Mary asked.

"We'll make an appointment with the registrar tomorrow," Anthony answered, "and hopefully be wed sometime this week."

"That is soon," Mary replied.

Anthony looked her in the eye assertively. "I think we've waited long enough."

"Hear, hear," Robert said, warming Edith with his support.

"And it's not about a wedding, it's about being married. We need a clean slate, not a white-washed affair," Edith explained.

"Well I think it sounds just perfect," Cora granted, patting Edith's knee. "Perhaps a nice supper back here?"

"Certainly," Edith agreed.

"And then we'll slip away on honeymoon," Anthony finished. "Perhaps six weeks or so."

"Yes, plenty of time to let the gossip die down," Cora said.

"Precisely," Anthony muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

"Oh, let the gossip fly," Edith huffed dismissively. "I couldn't care less what anyone thinks. For once, Edith Crawly is going to get exactly what she wants. I'm completely impervious to everything else."

And she was. As the rest of the party chattered away jovially, trying their best to make Edith and Anthony see that this time was different, this time he was welcome, Edith was nearly dumb with happiness. She held onto his hand the entire evening, not willing to let him go just yet.

As the hour grew later, the Crawleys excused themselves one by one. "You'll be going up soon, Edith?" Robert urged, though it wasn't really a question. Regardless of what she had been through, her honor was still something he felt obligated to defend.

"Of course, Papa," she assured, kissing him on the cheek. But when he was out of shot, she told Carson to let Anna know she shouldn't wait up.


	5. The Sofa

Alone at last, it didn't take long for Edith and Anthony to settle on the couch, comfortably knotted with Edith's head on his shoulder. "Your family was quite wonderful tonight," he mused after a while.

"About time," she scoffed, tucking her hand into his jacket so she could hold him tighter.

"It's all behind us now, darling. Let's not allow it to spoil the time we've got, hmm?" He asked, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

Edith lifted her head to look at him. "What on earth are you doing?" she questioned with a mock severity.

"Resting my eyes. It's been a rather momentous couple of hours, don't you think?"

"Yes, but if you think you're going to rest now you're mad." She reached for his neck, pulling his face down to hers.

The kisses they had then, the way she mussed his hair and gripped his shoulders, the way his hand traveled her back and hip, it was all incredibly healing. The familiarity of each other was certainly there from their years of friendship, and from the few previous encounters of this nature they had enjoyed. But there was also certain newness to it all, because this time they were victors, at last triumphant over their own insecurities and delicate prides.

There was no more room for doubt, no more question of would they or wouldn't they be together. They were here, now and forever.

When Edith untucked Anthony's shirt to feel his bare chest, he didn't protest. Nor did he argue when she slipped his dinner coat from his shoulders and loosened his tie. But she felt him tense when she removed the black sling, and his arm fell limp between them.

"It's in the way," he muttered into her hairline as she shifted into his lap, placing a knee on either side of him.

"Not in the slightest," she argued. Edith lifted his hand and placed it onto her chest, over her heart. "You mentioned once that you still had some sensation in your hand," she hedged, boring into his eyes.

"Yes, I can still feel a bit. I just can't use the damned thing," he said bitterly.

"Can you feel my heartbeat?" She wondered, a smile playing across her face. She pressed her forehead to Anthony's and closed her eyes as they listened to each other's breathing.

"Yes," he finally whispered. "Yes I believe I can."

By way of response, she allowed his hand to slip lower, ever so slightly, still holding it to herself with her own trembling grip, until it rested on her breast, and she pressed against him as their lips met. "One of these days," she managed between kisses, "I'm going to convince you once and for all that this arm of yours is no matter… I love it as much as I love you because it's part of who you are."

But soon they were both beyond words. Edith, who was decidedly inexperienced, found her body arching wantonly against Anthony, longing for the layers of clothing between them to be gone and lights to be dimmed and the house to be empty.

Anthony was not so frantic as she, though he seemed just as eager, which pleased her and gave her hope. His touch was controlled though, reserved. He was enjoying himself, savoring the moment. Edith was so lost in the new sensations she could hardly tell which way was the ceiling and which the floor.

When she quickly hitched up her dress around her hips so as to press closer to him, Anthony pulled away. The break in movement felt to her like a motorcar lurching to an abrupt stop in traffic. She released an involuntary whimper that should have embarrassed her, but didn't.

"Perhaps we should just, take a moment," he suggested, breathless and hoarse.

"What on earth for?" she flirted, locking her arms behind his neck.

"Because, darling, if we don't I'm afraid I won't be able to stop."

"And why should you?"

Anthony simply gave her a stern look and placed his hand on her hip, locking it in place several inches from his body where it had been crushing a moment earlier.

"So you won't even consider it?" She didn't try to hide her disappointment.

"I won't disrespect you in that way, Edith. Not after all we've done through. It would be like growing the most perfect garden, only to trample on it when it finally blooms."

"I disagree entirely. I want to be with you more than anything."

"As do I. And we will be. In a day or two when we're married."

Edith sighed, exasperated. Her shoulders dropped and she looked far away, a gesture Anthony knew so very well. It meant she was thinking, but was far from giving up.

"I just don't see," Edith said after a while, "how it could be wrong to..." But her voice trailed off. To her surprise, she blushed just slightly.

Anthony took her hand and kissed it, patient and kind as ever. "My Edith, it is not wrong. It never could be, when we love each other. This is precisely the way you should feel."

"Then why wait? It will only be a matter of days before we're married. You said so yourself."

"Because it is the proper thing to do."

"Proper?" she shrieked as loudly as she could without disturbing anyone, pushing on his chest for emphasis. "Propriety is quickly becoming my absolute most hated enemy. It's driven us apart so many, many times. No more. I want to know that you're mine, and I want you to know I'm yours, and I do not want you to disappear without us being lovers. I love you, Anthony, please don't deny me this."

He kissed her again, and kissed the tears that had formed at her lashes. Her eyes were so imploring, his wise and good and utterly alive. Nudging her to turn so she may sit sideways, in a less provocative position, he pulled her head to his chest, her tiny frame curling easily against him as he held for comfortingly.

"For as long as I live," he explained, "I will not deny you anything it is within my power to give you. I've gotten so many things wrong, my darling, and I promise I'll do everything I can to keep you happy." Edith tucked into his chest, gathering his shirt into her fist as though he might vanish if she closed her eyes.

He kissed the top of her head and whispered against her hair, "But I will not get this wrong as well. It has nothing to do with social convention. I think we're both beyond that. I simply want our first time, your first time, to be something untainted, unhurried, and private. Not here, on this sofa, where anyone could walk in. And I'm sorry I've made you afraid I might disappear. I won't, I promise, but I'm not going to show it to you in this way."

" You're far better and more patient than I," she said. She looked up, studying his face. She smiled as she patted down his hair and brushed her fingers over his lips. "I'm afraid I've been rather overzealous with your clothing tonight. I'm sorry."

"Never apologize for that, Edith. A little while yet and you're free to be as zealous as you like. In fact, I'll encourage it."

"Will you?" she laughed, raising her eyebrows and cocking her head.

"I know this may shock you, but everything you've been feeling, I've been feeling too, and imagining, and longing for. I just had no reason at all to hope for it until tonight."

"And what a night," she said. "Only five hours ago I was trying to think of the most tedious task imaginable so as to keep my mind occupied and make the days pass until my family would let me be in peace. They've been unbearably kind. I think I almost preferred it when I was ignored," she said without a hint of cynicism. "I've been utterly miserable, but if I even hinted at the fact, I'd be ushered to a garden party or dinner with Aunt Rosamund or a concert with some awful man who said all the right things and had absolutely no substance at all. And I've been writing, of course, but Papa doesn't approve and it's been hard to really devote myself to it when everyone thinks it's simply a phase."

"It's been so difficult for you. I thought you'd be off seeing the world or being courted by scores of suitors. I thought, when I left, that you would be happy."

"It's no matter. I'm happy now. And I intend to continue in the new trend."

They carried on, chatting and catching up on their lost year, and making decisions. They had plenty to sort out in the next several days. Where they should honeymoon, which of Anthony's houses they will live in upon their return, whether or not Edith would continue with her journalism.

Edith almost asked how he felt about children, but decided that she was so content just being with him, children would add to that joy, but wouldn't be pivotal for it. She also knew that he would fear his age would prevent traditional parenting, which of course was ridiculous. But for tonight at least, she had what she wanted and would not push him to face anything more.

It was nearly one in the morning when Edith finally let Anthony go home. They both loathed to part, but as Anthony reminded Edith, Lord Grantham would be none too pleased to find him there in the morning.

"You'll be back tomorrow, though?" She asked, sounding more insecure than she intended.

"Indeed. Call when you wake and I'll come right over."

"I won't sleep. Be here at nine."

"Nine," he confirmed, kissing her once more before heading down the steps toward his car and a rather surly looking chauffeur.

"And don't be one minute late, Sir Strallan, or you will answer to me," she warned, smiling widely at him.


	6. Comes the Dawn

Edith was bathed, dressed, and pacing the front room in anticipation by eight the next morning. More than once Carson passed, eyeing her skeptically as he did, but she didn't move from the windows. Partly out of giddy anticipation, and partly-she had to admit-out of fear he wouldn't come at all; that something would have hit him in the night that made him back out again. Her stomach was in knots as she chewed her lip and waited.

"Will you be sitting for breakfast, Milady?" Carson asked in his sonorous voice, causing Edith to jump.

"Yes, we both will be. Sir Anthony and myself," she replied. Taking in Carson's subtly disapproving expression she dropped her chin and assured, "Papa won't mind. I promise."

Carson walked away stiffly, leaving Edith to watch the clock.

All of her anxiety was forgotten when her characteristically prompt Anthony pulled up at exactly 8:55. Edith's heart leapt as she dashed out of the study and into the entry. Carson, having by chance been in the hall already, was nearly to the door. Edith tried to flit past him to answer it herself, but his admonishing, shocked face prompted her to stop. She waited impatiently directly behind him as he haughtily straightened his coat and cleared his throat. The moment he finally opened the door, Edith relaxed.

"Why, Sir Strallan, are you expected?" the old butler greeted sarcastically.

"Good Morning," Anthony muttered to Carson, handing off his hat. He barely got the words out before Edith had him by the hand. "And good morning to you, my sweet," he laughed.

"You were almost late."

"I most certainly was not," Anthony argued, "I had Samson take the car twice around the block because I was worried about being too early."

"I told you I'd be up. Never mind, care for tea?" She kissed Anthony then, jumping playfully with her arms around his neck, catching him quite off guard. Carson cleared his throat, perceptibly displeased.

"Are the other's down yet?" Edith asked him, not letting go of a slightly blushing Anthony.

"No, Milady, None of them seems quite so eager to start their day at this hour. But the tea is laid out."

"Thank you," she said with a smile, trying to appeal to the stuffy old butler before retreating to the dining room. They sat beside each other at the table, Anthony pulling her chair closer to his as they settled.

"Did you sleep well?" he enquired as Edith poured their tea.

"Not a wink," she sighed, then leaning in closer whispered seductively, "I couldn't stop thinking about our conversation on the settee."

Anthony blushed, nearly dropping his jam spoon and said, "Nor I my dear," in a shaky voice. Indulging her impulse, Edith kissed him again, running her hand over his knee as she felt his lips respond. When she parted her mouth to get the slightest taste of his upper lip with her tongue, he leaned away from her.

"Edith," he warned, "You were never so… open with your affection before." Still, he gave her hand a squeeze so she wouldn't feel rejected.

"I grant that I was shy, and unsure, and a bit reserved for your sake more than mine, but now I don't care at all, and I'm going to kiss you how I like, whenever I like. Do you mind?"

"Terribly," he sighed in mock gravity, leaning in again for another kiss.

Just as their lips met, Robert and Matthew entered together, and the pair separated reluctantly. "You did go home last night, Strallan, didn't you?" Robert asked. Anthony looked mildly horrified until Edith and Matthew laughed at Robert's dry humor and the poor man finally relaxed.

After breakfast, Edith and Anthony waited in the parlor for the ladies to come down so they might say hello before taking a long walk and a picnic in the park.

Sitting close on the sofa, Anthony looked apprehensive. "What is it," Edith asked, the color draining from her face.

"I stopped by the registrar this morning and made our appointment. It's for Thursday."

"Oh that's wonderful," she cried, reaching to hug him, but he stopped her.

"No Edith, a week from tomorrow."

"A week? We have to wait a whole week?"

"I had also hoped it could be sooner, but in the grand scheme I suppose seven days isn't unbearable."

"Speak for yourself," she pouted. She leaned against him and placed a small peck on his freshly-shaven jaw. Anthony patted her arm affectionately, but this was not sufficient for her. In the most adorable and erotic gesture Anthony had ever been on the receiving end of, Edith expressed at once her frustration and her tenacity—she bit him on the square of his jaw, just below his ear.

He suddenly felt quite warm, the weight of her body against his becoming almost too much for him. "If you're going to insist on doing things like that," he managed as he forced some distance between them, "I'm going to have to spend the next week in a monastery."

Edith, tickled by the notion that she had an effect on him, leaned one shoulder into him demurely while her right hand stealthily slipped onto his upper thigh. Anthony jumped up and stood near the mantle, a good four or five paces away from her. "You cannot be trusted."

"You wouldn't really leave me for a week would you?" She asked coyly, ignoring him.

Anthony sighed, happily bewildered by his Edith. "No, I don't think I could even if I wanted. Even," he said with particular emphasis, "if I happen to know your father's the best shooter in the county."

They laughed, both recognizing how lucky they were to be so happy. It wasn't long ago that both of them separately believed they'd never laugh again. And now, in the morning light, everything was paved before them, their lives laid out as one.

Only they weren't one yet, in Edith's mind. She loved him so deeply, she wanted to show him. She also wanted to show him that they belonged together, that they were good together, to ensure she would always be his, and to prove to him once and for all that he was perfectly capable of any and all marital activities either of them could hope for, despite his blasted arm.

And none of that, she decided, would wait a whole week.

"May we dine at yours tonight, Anthony?"

"Of course, if you wish," Anthony replied, slightly puzzled by the sudden change in topic.

"I do wish it," she replied, her mind already wandering to the possibilities. "I can think of nothing better."


	7. Understood

Edith did not enjoy or embrace the role of calculating woman. Once, in her youth, she'd tried her hand at it against Mary, and lost. Whenever she thought back to that damned letter to the Ambassador, over seven years ago now, and all the things she and Anthony could have done in that time, regret would surge through her, bitter and cold. But she decided long ago that you can never go back, and so she chose to look forward.

And she was so looking forward to this particular evening.

Being the pragmatic and prepared woman she was, Edith had thought it all through. She told her parents she and Anthony were dining at his house, maybe followed by a walk in the park, and she would likely be late. At twenty-seven, she had hardly the need to ask permission to stay out, but knew they would worry. And when Anna was helping her dress that night, Edith had said casually, "I don't plan on returning this evening, Anna. Please don't wait up. And should anyone ask, cover for me. You don't mind, do you?"

"In fact I don't, Milady," Anna said, pushing the last pin into Edith's hair. "But if I may say something, please don't do anything you'll regret."

"Promise," was Edith's simple reply. Because she was certain she would never regret what she hoped might happen tonight.

It was not sordid, nor was it incredibly duplicitous. She wanted to spend the night with the man who would be her husband, who should have been her husband almost a decade ago. She had lied to no one, she had set nothing up. She would simply ask her Anthony, after dinner, when the lights were low and the servants in bed, if he might take her to bed.

Surely, she thought as her car pulled up to Anthony's home, that did not make her a calculating woman. The tightening in her stomach and the warmth that rushed through her at the thought made her a bit unsteady as she stepped out of the car. If he denied her request, they were only a week away from the wedding. If he did not, it would be among the most significant nights of her life. For her, it was rather a winning scenario either way. And that realization helped her relax.

By the time she was shown to Anthony, who was in the study with a book in hand, she felt almost drunk with anticipation. She pulled nervously on the champagne colored gown she wore. She had picked it out with such care, even knowing it may well end up in a heap on the floor. The beading down the front accentuated her bust and hips, she knew, and in the new fashion, had only a few buttons in the back. Strategic, not calculating. She could imagine the way it would slip easily from her shoulders and fall easily to her feet.

"Hello, darling," Anthony exclaimed," tossing the novel aside and snapping Edith out of her reverie. "Rather a warm evening, don't you agree? I hope you don't mind, I've had dinner laid out on the terrace," Anthony rambled, pecking Edith on the cheek. He was adorably unaware of what she was thinking, and this made her smile from the inside out.

"Not at all, fresh air might be a wonderful thing," she replied, blushing at the hidden truth of her words.

Dinner was pleasant. It had taken no time at all for the comfort of their friendship to return, as though they never parted. Edith inquired after the estate and his business ventures, Anthony asked about her writing and the newspapers. He genuinely encouraged her to continue, even after they're married, which surprised Edith.

"I don't know why it should," Anthony replied, finishing his dessert. "I would support you in anything you chose to undertake."

"You're not embarrassed by me as a journalist?"

"Should I be? You have marvelous opinions, and a great many of them. The whole of England should be so lucky to have access to them."

He said this casually, as though he was simply reiterating common knowledge. When Edith wiped her eyes he looked concerned.

"Is something the matter, Edith?"

"No, you silly idiot, nothing is the matter. I just love you. And I love the way you make me feel."

"And that's made you cry?"

"Oh, shut up," she muttered, grinning as he laughed lightly at her.

When the night cooled and the wind picked up, they moved from the terrace to the quaint parlor at the front of the house. At ten o'clock Anthony told Evans, the old Butler, that he would see Lady Edith out and the staff was free to retire.

"Have you sent your car home?" Anthony asked, and Edith nodded. He frowned slightly, she noticed, in the way he does whenever he's working out a logistical puzzle. "Well perhaps we could hire a car when you're ready to leave. Shame I can't drive you myself. In the country I can generally manage the gears and steering alright, but in the narrow city roads, with traffic…" His voice trailed off when he caught her expression. "What?" he asked.

Edith was leaning into the corner of a richly upholstered Navy sofa, her bare feet tucked under her and her right arm stretched out over the top of it. Anthony was standing at the far end, finishing his customary glass of brandy. He was so tall, and broad, his eyes particularly blue in the low, evening light. Puzzled as he was as Edith's eyes wandered over him, he looked incredibly handsome.

"Perhaps we needn't hire a car at all," she suggested, her voice smaller than she intended. Still Anthony seemed somewhat behind.

Edith tilted her head to the side and bit her lip, waiting for him to catch up with her.

All at once he seemed to realize what she was getting at. He dropped his head and, to her surprise, laughed under his breath. "You are a persistent little thing, aren't you?"

"Surely the history of our relationship could have told you that."

Anthony nodded and walked slowly to her. With a heavy sigh, he sank down onto the couch beside her, close enough that her knees came to rest on his leg. He leaned his head back against her arm, a simple gesture that overjoyed her in its casual intimacy.

"I thought we understood each other last night," he said, rolling his head to look at her.

"We did, completely. You said you could wait a day or two for us to be together 'properly,' meaning a bed and privacy and time. All of which are waiting upstairs right now. Or I assume they are. I've never been above the first floor of any of your homes."

Anthony smiled at her. "I did say that, darling. Well remembered. What I meant was that I have no intention of sneaking you around. You deserve far better than that."

"I'm not sneaking anywhere. I told my family I would be here until late, I told Anna not to expect me back, and I plan on walking, plain as day, up those stairs with you into whichever of the many bedrooms you choose, which will be private and I assume will contain a bed. And then I plan on taking as much time with you as I need."

When Anthony didn't immediately argue, Edith took advantage. Using her arm to cradle his face, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his. There was no shyness, no hesitation, and no prelude. She wanted him to know what was on her mind. Remembering their morning, she ran her tongue ever so lightly along his lip, hoping to drive him to response.

And to her immense satisfaction, it worked. His left hand was in her hair, on her neck, his lips urging hers open. Edith ran her arms under his coat as she stretched them both out onto the couch. Lying on top of him as she was, she appeared much more in control than she felt.

"Edith, my dear," Anthony managed. "I really think—"

But Edith would have none of it. She sat up, a leg on either side of him, pinning him to the settee. "No, Anthony, I won't hear anymore. Short of undressing myself right here I don't think I can make myself any clearer. This is what I want. You, Anthony Strallan, are who I want. Married or not, I intend to be yours in every sense of the word. Tonight. And none of it will matter come next Thursday anyway so you may as well stop fighting."

She was slightly flushed after her demand, and her arms were folded obstinately across her chest. She'd never in her life imagined this. Lady Edith, middle daughter of the Earl of Grantham and resident old maid, was literally demanding that her virtue be compromised. She would have laughed at the absurdity of it all if she wasn't so busy being determined.

Edith and Anthony stared at each other for a long and intense moment before he spoke.

"I was only going to recommend," he said gently, humor lighting his features, "that we go upstairs before we get too… lost. But by all means, if you wish to undress here I won't dare stop you."

Edith smiled and rolled her eyes, standing and pulling Anthony with both her hands. "Really? Do you really mean it, Anthony? Because I don't think I could bear another false start."

Standing close to her now, his full height looming over her, he suddenly seemed the picture of masculinity. He peered down at her, his eyes burning and a guilty smile playing on his lips. "My Edith, I am by no means immune to you. I can only say 'no' so many times before giving in. I believe I reached my threshold."

"Well thank God for that," she scoffed, following him out of the room.


	8. The Second Floor

As Anthony led her up the stairs, the full realization of what they were going to do hit Edith, and her heart raced anew. She watched him from a step behind, still holding onto his massive hand. He looked different somehow. He was tranquil, poised, staring straight ahead. Triumphant, Edith supposed, was the word she was looking for. He looked like a victor, she thought, not at all the downtrodden man she'd known since the war.

The stairs were dark, lit only by the moonlight from the great windows in the entry hall and the rare dimmed lamp. She admired his taste. Nothing opulent or exceedingly ornamental, his homes were solid and warm and clean; very much like him. She looked at the large paintings on the walls in tidy, gold frames, and the heavy rug that ran the length of the hallway. In each occasional turret there was always a comfortable looking wingback chair and a shelf of books, as though he would stop and read almost anywhere the mood struck.

She nearly ran into his back when he stopped at a door near the end of the hall. He turned to face her then, both of them somewhat calmer after the short walk.

"Edith. It's not too late. If you wish to reconsider, I mean. But if we go into this room I'm afraid I'll be rather beyond the capacity to be reasonable…" He gestured between them.

Edith leaned in close, reaching past him for the knob, and let the door swing wide open behind him.

Edith had never undressed a man before. Just as she'd imagined, the buttons on her dress were simple work, even for a man with only the use of one hand. It had fallen to the floor with a swishing sound, the satin lining sliding effortlessly over her underthings. But his shirt and waistcoat and cuffs and tie all needed dealing with and were a great deal more complicated. The fact that Edith was shaking with expectation and anxiety did not help a bit.

"You're trembling," Anthony whispered. They stood close together in the center of what Edith presumed was his room. It was large, but not abundantly so. She imagined there were bigger bedrooms in the house, but it was very like Anthony to choose the one that just met his needs. The bed was turned down, the cream sheets looking invitingly soft under the deep green duvet. Part of her wanted desperately to be under the protection of those linens.

She didn't realize she was frowning until Anthony's hand lifted her chin. "Darling, you're supposed to be enjoying this. If you're uneasy, we can simply go to sleep," he offered. He kissed her forehead as though he might wash away the creases himself. She sighed, and dropped her hands from his collar.

"I am not uneasy. I am nervous, though, to be perfectly honest."

"Nervous?" He urged, undoing the bowtie himself and starting in on the buttons of his shirt. Clearly he'd had practice doing these things one-handed.

"You've been here before, and you know what to expect," she muttered, looking away. "And I am decidedly at a disadvantage."

"To what disadvantage are you referring? I have been married, but never to you. And I can assure you I have never felt like this, even here," he said with emphasis. He did not mean in the room.

Edith sighed and turned her burning brown eyes on Anthony. Never failing to surprise him, she stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms tightly around his neck, and hugged him. Anthony held her tightly for a long time, feeling her breath like a feather against his ear as she pressed into him.

"It is my experience," he whispered into her shoulder, "that everything new is frightening. But if we never did what scared us we would never change. And generally the most terrifying experiences turn out to be the most exhilarating and rewarding of all."

"Oh?" she murmured into his neck.

"I'm not talking just about making love, Edith. I'm talking about life, about marriage, about people. Do you know the most scared I've ever been in my life?"

"I imagine it has to do with your injury."

"It was the day I asked you to the concert. Do you remember?"

"What?" she asked, shocked. She stepped back so she might see his face.

"It's true. Because I knew just from the few days we'd spent together that if I took you to that concert, and to dinner afterwards, that I would fall in love with you. And I was right. I did fall in love with you. And I've been terrified ever since."

"Terrified," she repeated, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

"Yes. That I would lose you, that I would fail you, that I didn't deserve you, that you would get sick, that I wouldn't be able to keep you safe, that you wouldn't love me back. I'd never felt so much all at once."

"But Maud," Edith said meagerly.

"Maud was a good friend and a good companion, and I was devastated when she died. I still miss her sometimes. But Edith, I didn't know what it meant to love until I met you. I had no idea."

Edith didn't have the words, or the capacity, to respond. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, finishing the buttons on his shirt and tossing it to the floor beside his sling and the rest of his effects. The trousers she managed on her own, and he kicked them off with his socks.

"I've never seen your feet before," she said plainly, looking down at where their toes nearly met, contrasting against the thick, dark carpet.

"My feet?" he laughed. "Darling, I would have shown them to you any time. If that's all you wanted we could have done this years ago and saved you the trouble of undressing."

"You really are terribly funny," she said, pulling him towards the bed. "No one ever gives you credit for it, but you are."

"You only think so because I'm standing in my underclothes. In a morning jacket and trousers I'd be dull as dust."

"Not so," she smiled, climbing onto the bed. She knelt so that they might face each other. The bed was high enough that it almost brought her eye level with him. She waited, boldly, and watched his eyes wander over her. The silk knickers she wore were new, French, especially chosen for this occasion. They were short but loose, in a nude pink that complimented her skin, and trimmed with a very fine gold lace. A matching vest with lace along the deep neckline deliberately showed off her assets.

"I seem to remember there being more ties and clasps to these things," Anthony teased, running his hand over her ribs possessively, admiring the scant article.

"Progress, darling," she whispered, pulling him to her.

"Ah, is that the sort of progress your columns are about?"

"Mm-hmm," she hummed, trailing kisses along his ear and down his neck. She felt him tense just slightly when she brushed over his puckered, white scar. She kissed it most affectionately, letting her hand slide down his injured arm to squeeze the one he loathed.

Anthony's breathing was getting more labored, Edith noticed, and her whole body seemed to buzz with a sort of electricity. When his left hand traveled underneath her camisole to the skin of her lower back, a shock went through her. And when he deftly ran a single finger under the very edge of her shorts, Edith lost all sense of time and space.

Together they were all hands and lips and giggles. She had wanted to remember it, every bit of it, but there was no telling when exactly her underthings were slipped over her curves, or who did the slipping exactly. She was laying on the pillows and then she was bracing herself over him, dipping her head greedily for more kisses, and then she was on her back again. The only thoughts she could hold onto were of Anthony, of how deeply she loved him, and how utterly wonderful each new sensation was.

And then the time came, when the whole of existence shrank to the space between her arching hips and his, between their chests rising and falling with breathlessness, between his lips and hers only a breath apart.

"Edith," he whispered, as if grounding himself. It was a prayer and a plea and declaration.

"I'm yours, Anthony. I always was," Edith whispered into his neck, pulling on his bare shoulders until she felt the warmth of his body against her breasts. Anthony kissed her, softly and carefully and with restraint, and with a slow and deliberate movement, finally made it so.

To Edith, it seemed so new and yet so natural. She'd heard the standard horror stories—surely this is not what those women had described. They watched each other intently, neither in a hurry, both saying so much in their silence. Until finally something built so intensely in her that her eyes closed of their own volition and her body shuddered against his and her hands dug into the firm plane of his back. With one final push they both exhaled, neither realizing they'd been holding their breath.

Anthony tried to resituate, but Edith held him for a moment, squeezing him with her knees.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, slightly winded but concerned.

"No," she said, and suddenly she was laughing. A delirious laugh, one she hardly recognized as her own. "Dear lord, no. Far from it." And then he was laughing too.

"Is it always like that?" she asked frankly, finally turning so he could lie beside her.

"We're very lucky," was his answer, amused a bit at her bewilderment.

"I'd say," she giggled.

There was no hint of bashfulness between them. They were simply Edith and Anthony, as they always should have been. Lying there together, drowsy and sated and nude, a tangled, panting heap, and neither had ever been so happy.

"That was years in the making," she mused, running her hand in sleepy circles through his chest hair.

"Worth the wait, my sweet, dearest Edith. Well worth it."

"Just don't make me wait another seven years before the next time, alright?" she teased, tucking in close to him and relishing in the warmth of his body wrapped around hers.

"Whatever you want, dear," he laughed again, kissing the top of her head.

And there, awash in the pale light from the waning moon, Edith and Anthony fell into the most satisfied sleep either could ever remember having.


	9. Morning Light

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the kind reviews. You're too wonderful. I simply wanted to do justice by my poor, abused Lady Edith and Sir Anthony. I don't know _what_ they ever did to Julian Fellowes, but boy are they paying for it. Much more to come later so stick with me...

Happy reading!

* * *

Edith woke first to the sound of a light, summer rain against the windows. Her body felt tired and ached marvelously as she stretched and turned, and she knew without looking that it was still dark. A small moan escaped her as she shifted, and when she finally opened her eyes, an irrepressible grin stretched across her face. Beside her was her Anthony, mouth slightly open, head bent toward her on the thick pillow they'd shared, the sheets gathered around his waist but leaving his broad chest exposed. She watched the fall and rise of each deep, slow breath.

She'd dreamt this so many times before, but when the haze of sleep went and the morning sank in, she would realize her bed was empty and she was still alone. Edith watched his breathing for a long time, afraid that if she touched him he might fade away.

But then the memories flooded back; the feel of his rough, dry fingers as they ran up her side when he pulled her camisole over her head, the smell of mint and almond on his skin from his soap, the bitter taste of his aftershave, the feel of his breath against her ear as he whispered to her, the warmth of his long, muscular legs stretching along the inner span of hers…

The sudden ache in the pit of her stomach as she relived the moment was quickly becoming one of her favorite sensations. Not wanting to waste another minute sleeping, she leaned over him, brushing her lips against his a lightly as she could manage. When he didn't stir she pressed harder, and when that still didn't wake him, she bit his chin.

"I had no idea you had such a violent streak," he muttered without opening his eyes. His voice seemed alarmingly deep in the silence, and startled her momentarily. But his eyes pulled open and a languid smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, filling her again with warmth.

"If you don't care for my brand of violence you need only say so," she offered, leaning up on her elbows she could kiss him again, and again. She didn't bother keeping the sheet up to cover her. It puddled around the dip of her lower back.

"On the contrary," he laughed, pushing himself up to a sitting position so she could settle against him, under his arm. "How are you feeling this morning, Edith?"

He tried to keep his tone light, but Edith knew he was genuinely worried.

"Oh, I don't know," she sighed. "About as wonderful as I've ever felt in my life, I suppose."

"Well, we'll try to do better next time," he whispered, playing along.

And then the next time was better, though Edith had no idea it could be. And the next. When they finally talked themselves out of bed, the light peaking through the great wood shutters had turned a shade of deep blue, hinting they were almost out of time.

"I do regret I have to rush you home," he sighed, bending down to gather his cufflinks from the floor. "This night should have been followed by an exorbitant breakfast served in bed on our honeymoon."

"Don't you dare regret last night, it was perfect. And a week from today we will be married and then we never have to leave bed, unless…" her mind began to wander.

"Unless?" he pushed, setting his things on a chair and helping her with the buttons on her dress.

"Unless you occasionally care to take a bath with your wife, or perhaps enjoy a rather adventurous walk through the orchards at Locksley, or take a long drive down one of those deserted country roads…" her voice, dreamy and suggestive, trailed off as she turned to look sideways at Anthony. He suddenly seemed to be struggling with the last several buttons.

"To hell with your dress, you'll have to wear your coat anyway," he said huskily, kissing her still-exposed neck. "And if you're going to talk like that we're never going to get you home."

"I don't mind."

"Well you should. Wouldn't be much of a marriage if your father kills me before it's begun," he explained, separating from her reluctantly and carrying on with the business of getting dressed.

It was agreed Samson would drive them back to Grantham House, now before the sun was up and the world started to wake. "He's my oldest man, and incredibly loyal. The Spanish Inquisition couldn't get a word out of him," Anthony explained.

And soon they were parked outside the service entrance to the Crawley's home, watching fog roll over the wet sidewalks as the sun began to stretch over the rooftops of London.

"I hate to drop you off, but I'd hate even more to get you in trouble," Anthony said.

"You needn't explain. I bargained for this, remember? I only wish you didn't have to go."

"I'm going to take care of some things this morning, here in town. You should get some sleep, eat a giant meal, and I'll come to call shortly after luncheon, alright?"

Edith nodded, straightening Anthony's wildly mussed hair. They gave a chaste kiss goodbye, and just before Edith was going she turned to him. "Oh, and darling? Granny is coming for tea this afternoon so I might tell her our news. Should we include all the details?"

"Oh heavens," he muttered, looking truly afraid at the prospect of facing The Dowager Countess. Edith smiled empathetically at him at walked back to lean through the open door.

"You needn't be there if you don't want to be," she offered.

"Of course I'll be there. We do it together, right?"

"Very well," she sighed, visibly relieved. "See you this afternoon, then."

He watched as she moved up the walk to the back door, waiting until she waved a final goodbye before the car pulled away down the road.

Inside, Edith slipped off her shoes to make as little noise as possible and was just about to start up the back stair when someone cleared their throat behind her, making her nearly jump out of her skin.

Anna stepped out of the dark kitchen, small hands placed firmly on her hips.

"Anna, you scared me. What on earth are you doing up?"

"Oh, I thought I might get up obscenely early and pace the kitchen for an hour or two for my own benefit."

"I told you I'd be out late."

"You didn't tell me you'd be out early too," she admonished in a loud whisper. "Have you any idea what I thought? What could have happened?"

"I'm sorry. You needn't have worried. I wasn't in any danger."

"I wasn't talking about you—your parents would have killed me if they knew I helped you," Anna said. But her face melted into a crooked smile. "You look like the cat that got the canary. What on earth have you been up to?"

"You can't imagine," Edith gushed, glad she wasn't in too much trouble.

"Lady Edith, I'm a married woman. I suspect I can imagine exactly what you've been up to." Edith blushed furiously, but didn't try to hide her grin. "Go, upstairs. We'll get you a bath and a quick bite and then you can try to get some sleep before lunch," Anna demanded. She pointed one strict finger up the stairs and her Lady obeyed gladly.


	10. Daniel and the Lions

"Well, something is amiss, I can tell right now," the Dowager Countess said, pursing her lips and looking at Cora and Robert pointedly. When they ignored her, she let out an irked "humph" and looked away, quite impatient.

Edith listened from the door to the parlor, smiling to herself. A few days ago the prospect of telling Granny of her engagement offered an opportunity to really give the woman a piece of her mind. Edith had felt so betrayed by her that day in the church, and in a way she was still smarting over it. She thought there would be a certain satisfaction to be had in staring the stubborn woman in the eyes and declaring victory.

But now everything had changed. She no longer felt the need to prove herself to the world, and she didn't see the point. Anthony and she had everything in each other. If Granny failed to see or appreciate it, then so be it. Edith would no longer waste time shaking her fist at the world. And she was far too content now, after everything she'd been given the last several days, to be angry with anyone.

"Edith," Anthony said softly, not wishing to alert the rest of them to his presence. She hadn't heard him come in. "Am I late?"

"No, Gran is early. She has a sixth sense about these things and knew inherently she would be inconveniencing someone's plans if she 'dropped in.' Anyway, she hasn't been here long." Edith gave Anthony's arm a squeeze and smiled serenely at him.

"I was hoping to get you to myself for just a few moments. Is there time for that?"

"Of course. Let's just step in here," she said, leading him to the drawing room across the hall. Edith pulled him down onto the window seat, twining her fingers through his, but they had barely settled when he broke his hand free.

"I have something for you," he said, rummaging in his breast pocket before pulling out a small, velvet box. He presented it to Edith in the flat of his palm.

"Anthony, I think we're beyond these gestures," she tried, but he was feeling rather authoritative.

"Just hush, and take it, please," he said gently. "I got it all wrong the first time, and as you wisely told me the other night, we need a clean slate. New us, new ring, right?"

When Edith opened the box, she couldn't help but mutter a clichéd "Oh, my." It was an unusual ring; not at all the standard mass of gold and stone a Lady's engagement ring usually was. It was silver and terrifically feminine; a braided band with tiny diamonds between each knot, and a square center stone, modest but bright, surrounded by a neat frame of tiny yellow stones. It was inconspicuous but complex and utterly, utterly beautiful.

"Those little stones are a rare yellow diamond, and the band is hundreds of years old. I thought it suited better than that ghastly thing I gave you last time," he said softly, taking it from the box she still held and pushing it onto her left ring finger. He brought it up to his mouth and kissed it, as though he were sealing it in place.

"Anthony, I," she stuttered, trying to find the right words. "Thank you. It's truly lovely, it's perfect."

"It's you," he said simply. "Understated and elegant and absolutely remarkable."

"It's us," she qualified, kissing him softly.

"I thought it might help in the lion's den there," he laughed after a moment, tossing his head in the direction of the parlor. Edith smiled apologetically.

"I'm afraid it will take more than a ring help us in there. Granny won't like the scandal."

"Oh, Granny won't like being proved wrong. The scandal she'll recover from, no doubt."

Edith raised her eyebrows, surprised at him. "You're so calm. I thought for sure you'd be all nerves having to face her."

"I might have been before, when I agreed with her, but not now. Not now that I know for certain she was wrong. I don't think I truly believed until last night that I could make you happy."

"Sir Anthony Strallan, are you referring to certain recent events? Because I assure you, had I realized that was all you were worried about—" she said, blushing slightly despite herself as she remembered her rather boisterous and involuntary responses.

"No, no, heavens," he said with a laugh, patting her hand. "No, I only meant that you've allowed me to believe we are enough, that we're good for each other."

"Of course we are. I've said it all along."

"Well, I finally understand it. I still find it quite unfathomable, I admit, that I've won someone as splendid as you, but I don't question it either."

"You silly, sentimental man," she muttered, kissing his cheek.

"Edith," Cora said, breezing into the room. "Oh, Anthony, I didn't realize you'd come. So sorry to intrude, but Granny is waiting and I don't believe she'll be put off any longer."

"Come Daniel, to the den we go," Edith sighed, pulling Anthony to his feet and following Cora out of the room.

"Hello, Gran. I'm so glad to see you," Edith greeted as she entered the parlor. She still had Anthony's hand, both of them relaxed and calm. The Countess' back was to the door and she didn't bother turning as they came in.

"Edith, I'm told you have some news, and judging by the lack of information I'm guessing you've decided to turn your column into a one-woman vaudeville act or something." But as Edith and Anthony came round her chair, Lady Violet's eyes went wide and her lips snapped shut.

"Granny, everything's been sorted and we'd like you to know that Anthony and I are getting married by the register a week from today at eleven in the morning," Edith said stiffly. Lady Violet looked from Edith to Robert and back again, and then finally turned her great, grey eyes on Anthony.

She gave him a once over as he waited, firmly and boldly, before she spoke. "I seem to be experiencing a sort of deja vu and I can't say I'm enjoying it."

"I assure you, your Ladyship, this is not at all the same as it was before," Anthony said softly. Even when defending himself his manner was gentle and polite; something that did not go unnoticed by Edith. Looking at his future wife, Anthony said with conviction, "I am not the same man I was before."

"Well, that's a relief, I must say. And are you miraculously healed, or have you perhaps discovered the fountain of youth during your absence?" Lady Violet chirped, looking rather pleased with herself. "Granddaughter, nothing has changed at all."

"You're right, Gran," Edith said quietly. "I love him as much now as I did then, and that will never change. Anyway, we're getting married whether you approve or not, so if you wish to attend you may want to start acting mildly glad for us."

"Don't threaten me before I've had my tea, dear. It's in bad form," Lady Violet said dryly. Then, gesturing to the couch, she said, "Well sit down, before Strallan's height gives me a kink in my neck."

They sat, Edith rolling her eyes subtly to Anthony, who seemed impervious to the old and stubborn woman.

"Edith and Anthony are having a very simple ceremony, and then we'll have a wedding breakfast back here before they sail for the continent," Cora said, trying to lend her support.

"I see. And you approve, Robert?"

"Yes, Mother, I do. Vehemently."

"Well, Anthony, I hope you recognize what you've gotten yourself into."

"I do, Lady Violet, I couldn't be more pleased."

"Good. Marrying into this family is quite an undertaking, I assure you. And be warned, Strallan," she said gravely. "Of all the Crawley's, Edith is by far the most like me."

Edith beamed, recognizing the compliment and squeezing Anthony's hand. In the briefest exchange of glances everything that had passed between Edith and Lady Violet seemed forgiven.

Later, after Mary and Matthew joined and the party was busy in individual conversations, Lady Violet pulled Anthony aside for a moment. "I still don't understand it, Strallan, but I just watched my favorite granddaughter force a smile for the past year and I'm not going to push her down that road again."

Anthony looked somewhat dumbfounded, and unsure of whether he was being paid a compliment, an insult, or being offered a truce.

"Oh, don't look so alarmed. I have been known to change my mind on occasion. I'm not saying I was wrong about you, or about Edith's future. But I will say I'm glad she's happy. You'll have no more obstinacy from me."

"Thank you, Countess. I can't tell you what that means."

"I think for both our sakes it would be best for you to call me Lady Violet. You're family now, but Granny would be…" She trailed off as she looked up at his gray hair. With a roll of her eyes she hobbled off to join Mary and Edith on the couch.

Anthony laughed to himself at her expression. Very much like Edith, indeed. He'd seen that look a hundred times on the face he loved so immensely; face, he realized, which was watching him from across the room with a most angelic look. "Love you," he mouthed. And never had the words been more true.


	11. A Week

Edith imagined how the week could have dragged on, the days seeming endless as she waited to become Lady Strallan, forever under the watchful eye of her anticipating relatives. Before their 'first attempt,' as she and Anthony had come to call it, Edith was forever being told what to do and how to feel, when she could and could not see Anthony, what she should be thinking, when to eat and what to eat to avoid puffiness. It was interminable.

The week before their appointment with the registrar could have easily been just as tedious and nerve-wracking, but it wasn't.

"The beauty of having done all of this before, is that no one seems to care about the insignificant things," Edith mused, sprawled on a blanket with Anthony under a great oak in the park. It was one of those lovely days of early summer when the air isn't yet thick with heat and the grass is still cool and damp with spring rain.

"Oh?" he asked sleepily. His eyes were closed as he ran lazy circles on Edith's ankles where they rested in his lap. She was leaning against the trunk of the tree as he stretched out in front of her.

"Last time no one would have dared let us alone. I was ushered into a separate house, quarantined from you for days except for well-attended dinner parties, and even then we were barely allowed to speak. Don't you remember? It was awful."

"Quite," he agreed. Dropping his voice and looking at her sideways he said, "It is rather remarkable what we've gotten away with this week."

Edith smiled. They'd spent every day together, either at his home talking and reading, or walking the shops or the park, Edith picking out a few little trifles to be shipped to Locksley for their return. Even better were the times when they secured a proper couple of hours to, as conservative society put it, get to know each other.

"Married or not, I think this has been the best week of my life," she sighed. She pulled her feet from his hands so she might kneel and, placing a hand on either side of him, lean down to kiss him. A passing group of women tittered as they inadvertently witnessed the display, but Edith just shrugged. "That is exactly what I'm referring to."

Anthony pulled his old pocket watch from his vest and handed it to Edith as she leaned into his side. She read it with a smile, "Twenty hours, and forty minutes. How did you know I was going to ask?"

"Because, sweet one, it's been roughly seven minutes since that last time you checked and I knew you were due. Why don't you hold onto the watch for now?"

"You won't miss it?"

"Not with you around to keep me informed." Edith poked him in the ribs, relatively hard, trying to get a rise out of him.

"Ouch," he muttered, "That violent streak is getting worse, I believe. Will my amiable, patient Edith return after we're married?"

"You'll find out in twenty hours and thirty eight minutes," she said. And when his smile wasn't reaction enough she kissed him again, and again, and again.

The day went all too quickly, and while they were left alone during the week, the eve of even a second wedding seemed too much for the Crawleys to ignore. Anthony was sent home after dinner, and Edith was sent upstairs for a bath and bed, as though she were in school again. Her parents had even come to bid her goodnight.

"I'm so happy for you, my darling girl. I said you were being tested, and perhaps you were. Now you'll appreciate the good all the more and weather the bad with a bit more courage. It wasn't all for naught, Edith. Remember that," Cora said in her most maternal tone. It was the one that soothed Edith when she was frail and infuriated her when she was not, but it was her Mama's, and she would never tire of hearing it.

Hours later, Edith was sitting on the great windowsill, her forehead pressed to the cool glass as she watched the breeze move through the trees lining the street. Anthony had told her to keep his watch. "I'll be here to get it back tomorrow," he had said. Edith knew it was his promise to return, to never let her down again.

She checked it; well after two in the morning. She knew she should rest but each time she climbed into the cold, empty bed her mind would start racing. Mostly it was the thrill of finally getting what she wanted—the only thing she had ever wanted. But a fair part of her restlessness, she recognized, was fear. When she closed her eyes she couldn't fight the memories of that first attempt.

She checked the watch again, shifting it to the moonlight so she might see it better, to double check she had the time right and that the watch was indeed working. It was. This side of eight hours and she and Anthony would exchange their vows. They would walk to the office together, their family and friends in tow, and they would say the words. Anthony told her they were already married in his mind, "in the ways that count." She knew he meant it, and that he was right.

Edith held onto that thought, clutching the watch in her hands as though it confirmed everything was real, and her stomach flipped all over again.

A faint knock at her door caused Edith's heart to drop, worried somehow it was Anthony coming to say goodbye and break her heart once more.

She opened it with shaking hands and gaped at a rather worn looking Mary, standing barefoot in her nightgown and playing nervously with her long, dark braid.

"I didn't think you'd be sleeping. I didn't wake you?" Mary asked.

"No, no. I haven't sat still all night," Edith said quickly, snapping to and opening the door to let Mary in.

"I know this is Sybil's territory, but seeing as she's in Dublin and I'm here, I thought I'd check on you. You seemed a little tense after Anthony left."

Both sisters were guarded, awkward, so unused to anything other than moderately civil conversation. Edith gestured to the bed and they both sat stiffly, unsure of where to look.

"I was. I am, though not for any conventional reason."

"Well I would offer you the standard reassurances, but this is not a standard pre-wedding anxiety."

"He won't go again," Edith said, unintentionally defensive.

"I know. I know he won't." Mary's tone was curt. But taking a deep breath she began again. "I came to talk to you."

"Oh?"

"Edith, I know we haven't always been kind to each other. It's no secret we've never been friends, but despite all that, I really am very, very glad for you.

Edith was so unused to any such speech from her older sister all she managed was a simple, "Thank you."

"I know," Mary continued, though she was clearly having a difficult time, "that you and Sir Anthony have had your share of complications. And I know I'm partially culpable, if not largely so. That day at the garden party, Edith, I had no idea."

"You did, you had every idea. But it doesn't matter. And I'm just as much to blame for that as you. More so, probably. I think it's safe to say you and I have always been our own worst enemies."

"I suppose that's why we're so good at being each other's enemies," Mary said with a sad laugh.

"We're both grown, we needn't be in competition anymore. It's all in the past now."

The sisters studied each other for a long minute, unsure of how to operate in the unprecedented exchange.

"Friends?" Mary finally asked, her face and expression as cool as she could manage. "At least until Sybil comes home to relieve us?"

"I'd be very glad for it," Edith replied.

The sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment, neither sister feeling overly affectionate. Apparently the friendship part would take some getting used to. Mary shrugged as if to shake the emotional conversation off and looked away.

"Well, as a friend, and your married big sister, might I offer you any advice on married life? Or perhaps," she said in mock solemnity, "on your impending wedding night?"

Edith laughed nervously and looked down and her hands. "No, thank you, I'm quite alright."

"Come on," Mary jeered, elbowing Edith lightly. "You needn't be shy."

Edith turn to her slowly, a less-than-remorseful grin on her face. "I wasn't."

It took a moment before Mary caught on. "What?" she gasped, "No. Who?"

"Anthony, of course. Who else?" Edith answered casually.

"When, I mean—how did you find the time?" Mary's eyebrows were arched and her eyes wide.

"No one ever notices when I'm gone, do they?"

Mary turned her eyes to the floor, unable to hide her shock. She was fighting a smile, unsure whether to laugh or plug her ears. "I didn't think he had it in him," she muttered almost to herself.

Edith's face fell as she whispered, "Be nice."

"I only meant, I always thought of Sir Anthony as the absolute image of decorum and etiquette," Mary softened.

Edith nodded once and explained, "Anthony is the picture of honor. He is, and always has been, the perfect gentleman." Then, dropping her voice slightly she said coyly, "Except in certain places… Including his bedroom, and two of the guest rooms, and specifically the desk in his study."

Mary's face grew even more alarmed for a moment, at a total loss for words until the sisters made eye contact. Edith's expression was the strangest mix of shame and satisfaction. And then both women burst into laughter.

"Oh god, I don't think I want to hear anymore," Mary managed.

"I know you and Sybil think you're the rebels in the family, but I'm defiant in my own way. I just don't get caught," Edith said as her cackling died into little exhausted giggles.

"Thank god, or Papa would have shot your groom on the spot," Mary said gravely, taking a deep breath.

And then they broke into another fit of screeching laughs.

Each time they managed to talk one of them would say something clever and they'd peel off into a joyful delirium again, realizing the reason they'd been so good at fighting is because they were well-matched when it came to wit. And before long Edith realized she wasn't nervous anymore, just exhausted and brilliantly happy.

When Anna came in at eight to rouse the bride, she was pleasantly surprised to find Mary and Edith asleep, together, curled up under one blanket like little girls.

"They'll never believe this downstairs. I wonder if it'll snow today too," she muttered to herself as she crept back out of the room.

* * *

A/N: I know it's all a little too happy. There are hard times to come, I'm sure. But certainly they have all suffered enough that they can enjoy a little 'joyful delirium' for a bit, eh? As for the unmentionable that happened in Episode 3.5-I am currently refusing to acknowledge it ever happened.

Thanks for your reviews, but more so, thanks for reading!


	12. Thursday, Eleven

Edith had asked Anthony for a wedding present. He would have given her anything in the world no matter the cost, but his rooted, practical Edith didn't want any material possessions, nothing that could be bought or ordered or built.

"Whatever it is, I'll give you anything. Of course I will," he offered. He didn't hesitate either, though his mind reeled at the possibilities. Her expression alerted him that this was a serious matter to her.

"I want you to bring the letters—my letters—tomorrow. I want to take them with us on the honeymoon, please."

"The letters?" he repeated. Organized man that he was, he knew exactly where they were. All 337 of them were bundled neatly and tucked away in his closet, much the way he had placed is nearly overwhelming agony in a tidy box and stuffed it away into the furthest corner from his mind. He'd fought every single day of the past year to ignore both packages.

"The letters," she confirmed. Edith knew what she was asking. They were not just correspondence but the only tangible evidence of the pain they'd both suffered, the pain he alone had caused regardless of his intentions. She was asking Anthony to hand them over to her for a reason she hadn't yet revealed.

"Consider it done," he'd said weakly.

And so, when Edith came downstairs for breakfast the morning of their wedding day to find a package, wrapped in pale blue paper with a poppy tied to it with twine, she knew what it had cost him. She ran her fingers over it reverently, as though his living heart was contained within.

"Something fancy from Sir Strallan?" Cora asked jovially, totally unaware of the magnitude of the gift.

"Not exactly, but it's just what I wanted," Edith replied.

"Well, whatever it is, why don't you leave it until you've eaten something? It's going to be a big day."

"No, thank you, I'd like to make sure it's packed with my things for our sailing. I'll just run it to Anna."

By the time Edith returned to the breakfast table, the rest of the Crawleys had assembled.

"When is Granny joining us?" Mary asked, avoiding eye contact with Edith. They woke up like two awkward lovers, blushing and embarrassed. They'd barely spoken since, but there was a palpable levity between them now. Compared to the usual tension, it was an uncomfortable relief that would simply take getting used to.

"Just after ten, I believe," Edith replied, helping herself to another crepe. "Anthony should be here anytime now."

"You seem in high spirits," Robert offered, setting aside his newspaper. What he didn't tell her was what a remarkable difference he noticed in her over the past week. He'd no idea how miserable she was until Sir Anthony was back in her life. It was like reading in the library and not realizing it was dark until someone turned on the light. And Edith was certainly lit up now.

"Of course I am," she said casually. "Today is going to be the easiest day of my life. I don't have to do a thing but repeat all the right words and take a ring. Compared to analyzing the complexities of modern female politics or uprooting a stump with a tractor, this should be no problem at all. Anna's pressing my white day dress right now, I've just gorged myself on my favorite meal. We're only missing one thing."

"Aunt Rosamund's icy glare and uncanny ability to operate like a one-woman gossip rag?" Mary asked dryly. Edith and Matthew had to stifle their laughter as Robert gave a disapproving glare, though even he was trying not to crack a grin.

"No, I meant my groom. Well, that and our baby sister. It doesn't seem quite right, does it? Not having Sybil with us."

Robert and Cora exchanged a quick glance that went unnoticed by the enthusiastic sisters, still cracking jokes with Matthew as though they were all children again.

There was such happiness in the air that the whole household was affected. Even Carson was humming a little tune as he refreshed the coffee, and O'Brien actually smiled at the boy that brought the morning papers. The sun shone once again in Edith's world, or perhaps for the first time, and it was absolutely infectious.

When the footman came in to announce a visitor nearly everyone in the dining room was surprised. "It's not yet half-nine," Mary pointed out, somewhat confused.

"Anthony is early everywhere he goes," Edith explained.

"Care for me to entertain him while you get ready?" Matthew offered, worried Edith would want to be a typical bride and conceal herself until the vows.

"Oh, no. He's seen me before," she said, utterly placid.

"Forgive me, Your Lordship," said the young footman, "But it isn't Sir Strallan."

"I didn't think so," Robert beamed. He stood and cast a mischievous glance round the table. "Please show them in."

"Papa, what?" Edith began, but she didn't have to wait for long. In bound Sybil, a pink bundle in her arms, Tom following closely behind.

"We didn't dream you'd make it over. Oh, and with the baby and all," Edith cried, rushing to hug her sister.

"Mama sent for us the moment you told her you'd have to wait a week," Sybil explained as she kissed everyone on the cheek. Edith, who was always fond of Tom for teaching her to drive and was also feeling particularly generous today, threw her arms around her nervous brother-in-law.

"I'm ever so glad you could come," she grinned.

"Actually," Cora said quietly, "It was your father's idea."

Sybil looked sincerely touched. As everyone cooed over baby Madeline, Edith snuck to her stiff, stoic father and kissed him on the check. "Thank you, Papa. It means the world to me, and to Sybil I know."

"I couldn't let my last daughter go without a proper gift," he muttered, patting Edith's hand.

Anthony arrived while Edith was getting dressed. The Crawley women were all gathered around her, chatting happily in Edith's room as Anna pinned up her hair. The baby was gurgling and grinning on Cora's lap, a constant source of entertainment.

"Careful, Sybil," Mary warned. "Little Madeline will be influenced by her wicked Aunts and then we're all in trouble."

Edith turned in her chair to face them all, the picture of ease and contentment. She was so relaxed, so content. The knowledge that Anthony, her Anthony, was waiting downstairs in his morning coat, waiting to marry her, just seemed unfathomably wonderful.

The gentlemen met the ladies as they gathered in the entry.

"Hello, Sir Anthony. Fancy seeing you here," Edith muttered to him, barely able to contain her joy.

"Thought I'd pop in and see if I might have that watch back," he returned, kissing her temple. "Am I intruding on anything?"

"Not at all. And you may have your watch back in twenty minutes," she said firmly.

They watched as their guests collected themselves: Cora brushed something off of Robert's jacket; Carson offered Mrs. Hughes his arm; Anna and Mr. Bates offered to escort Granny in the motor. It looked more like a family outing to the park than a wedding, which suited Edith and Anthony perfectly well. "We'll look like a parade," Tom joked, propping Madeline against his shoulder.

And perhaps they did, with Anthony and Edith leading them, hand in hand, as they walked in the morning sun to the register several blocks away.

The ceremony was brief, and crowded as the registrar's secretary noted curtly. Edith asked if Anna and Bates might be the signing witnesses, which no one objected to. The Bateses, Carson, and Mrs. Hughes had been told by Anthony to sit with the family. It was all quite lovely despite its complete lack of convention, or perhaps even because of it.

Edith was far shorter than Anthony. Standing close together, hands joined while they stared at each other and not the squat little man officiating, it was much more noticeable. The way she craned her neck to look up at him only contributed to the image of mutual adoration they displayed. Her dress, ivory lace over cotton with blue embroidery at the neck and a pale gren sash around her waist, was the perfect pairing to his tweed suit. And when Anthony bent down to gently and modestly kiss his wife, there was no doubting the love they shared by any of the attendees.

Among the cheers and applause, Anthony scooped Lady Strallan into his arm so he might hold her tightly. She wrapped her arms over his shoulders and pressed her cheek to his, feeling some unabashed tears fall from his beautiful blue eyes.

"Hello, wife," he whispered into her ear. "I'm sorry I'm late."

"Hello, husband," she said back, half laughing and half crying. "It's quite alright. I knew you'd come along."

They managed another chaste kiss before being overtaken by the family, eager to give their own congratulations.

* * *

A/N: Just what is Edith planning on doing with those letters anyway? :) Stay tuned! And thanks again, for your kind reviews and for reading my little fantasy.

(I didn't realize was a cheap romantic I was until I tried to do justice to their wedding. I promise I'll lighten up on the fluff soon.)


	13. Going Rogue

"I think Papa's trying to talk Tom and Sybil into staying at Downton indefinitely," Edith said, nodding in the direction where Robert stood with the young and reluctant couple across the room.

She and Anthony were leaning against the sofa table together, somewhat separate from the rest of the party, enjoying the cake Mrs. Patmore had created. It had been beautifully decorated, with a light apricot icing, delicate white piping, and a collection of jasmine blossoms spread around the base. The filling was an apricot mousse, and the cake vanilla—Edith's favorites, Mrs. Patmore had remembered.

"You would like that, having Sybil back home, wouldn't you?" Anthony wondered.

"I'm fairly certain Sybil secretly wants to come home. But she'll never betray Tom. It's going to be a sacrifice for him, and I only wonder if he'll make it."

"You're kind to worry about them," Anthony said, admiring his wife's goodness.

"Not really. I just want to avoid any conflict. This family seems inexplicably drawn to it."

"You're lovely, and generous, and you may have the others fooled but I know how much you love them," he whispered, setting down his plate so he might run his hand along her lower back to her side. He gave her hip a daring little squeeze as he pulled her closer to him. "I know you."

"Mm-hmm," she hummed, running her nose along his jaw. They risked the exchange, hoping no one would see it with their backs to all of them, but they were not so lucky.

"Edith, dear, tell me again where you're going for the honeymoon?" Lady Violet called from her chair. Her gray eyes peered knowingly over her hands atop her cane as she waited for a response.

Edith sighed, breaking from her Anthony, and whispered "Well, don't go giving away all my secrets." Her double meaning was clear when she ran her finger along the top of his trousers as she passed him to sit by her Gran.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he muttered and gave that crooked smile he always got when Edith did something to surprise him. Of all his many communicative expressions, it was probably Edith's favorite.

It was the same look he gave when Edith, adventurous creature, suggested they break from their honeymoon itinerary to take an un-chauffeured, servant-free excursion along the Mediterranean. "Don't you think it would be brilliant, just the two of us? Even if it's just for a week or so?" She gestured to the footmen carrying trunks into their room, knowing her maid was down the hall in a room of her own, waiting to be summoned. "Without all the...company?"

"Of course, sweet one, I just don't know how we'd manage."

"Anthony Strallan, you're a decorated war hero and supervisor of the most successful estate in Northern England, I'm a brazen political columnist who has an intimate understanding of tractor operation. Surely we can manage to go on holiday just the two of us."

Anthony laughed warmly, realizing how silly she must have thought him. "You're right, but it's just this blasted arm."

"What?" She was genuinely confused about how his arm factored into this endeavor.

"What if we encounter any trouble? A flat tire, or worse, and what of the luggage? I can't haul it about. And without a valet you'd have to dress me each morning."

Edith thought for a moment, feeling badly for not knowing ahead of time he might be nervous about the logistics of independent travel. He'd managed before her with very little help just fine, of course, but he'd also been much less active. Depressed and self-loathing as he was, Anthony had mostly stuck to reading, rarely shaved or took dinner or went out of doors, except to conduct business that couldn't possibly be handled by correspondence.

Now she was asking him to run about the South of France with only a car and a bag and he was worried about being a burden, or worse being unable to protect her. Again, they failed to see his injury in the same light.

"Well," she said stepping closer to him, "I can't imagine we'll have more than one case each, and Tom taught me the basics of car maintenance long ago. We won't venture too far from the main cities, there will always be bellmen and footmen at the hotels, and if something really dire happens, Edwards and Samson will only be a phone call away, won't they?"

"I suppose," he said.

Knowing he was still hesitant she laced her arm through his and leaned up to whisper seductively, "And I've been getting rather good at undressing you. I suppose it couldn't hurt to practice the reverse as well."

"Well, how can I argue with that?" he asked, relieved and delighted to appease her.

After giving each of the staff a generous bonus and leave to enjoy themselves, the Strallans were off in Anthony's new open Austin 20. Their first night they ended up in a quaint little hotel outside of Nice.

The hotel owners, a small couple with over-sunned skin like brown maps, were incredibly warm and generous, honored to have newlyweds among their guest list. Anthony and Edith ate like kings and got tipsy from the heat and the cold dessert wine the waiter kept pouring.

All alone with no schedule and no risk of servants waking them, they made love until the small hours of morning and slept in the nude. The smell of salt and oleander clung to the breeze as it blew in from the sea through their open window. It was just cool enough to keep them comfortable as they lay together atop the mess of sheets. They woke feeling like the late Mediterranean morning—languorous and drowsy and sated.

By the time they were hungry for breakfast it was nearly eleven, so the Strallans decided to dine in their little suite. Sitting across from each other at the small round table under the window, Edith in her silk robe and Anthony in only his trousers, they shared the newspaper and ate fresh fruit and sponge cake and iced coffee.

When an attendant came to clear it away, he took a quick glance around the suite and laughed. The thin young man muttered something to Anthony when he took his tip and slapped him jovially on the shoulder before leaving. Anthony, in response, looked mildly horrified.

"My French is admittedly rusty," Edith said, stretching her over-worked muscles. "What did he say?"

Anthony looked slightly awkward, flexing his hand in the way he always did when he was trying to be delicate. "Well, he said that the English are cold as fish by day, but that he hoped for your sake I did not waste such beauty by night."

"That doesn't seem so bad," she said with a blush, still unused to being called a beauty despite Anthony's many sincere complements.

"He added that, judging by the current state of our room, I did not," Anthony muttered regrettably. He didn't wish to embarrass his young and comparatively naïve wife. But Edith just laughed.

It was over dinner that evening that Edith finally explained her wedding gift to Anthony. They were at a fine restaurant, perched over the sea with muslin umbrellas over each table and white lights strung between them. The waiters brought roasted pheasant with peach glaze and figs stuffed with spiced goat cheese and rich breads with olive tapenade. They ate with their hands and never experienced a lull in conversation. "The benefit," Anthony pointed out, "of marrying your closest friend."

Between the final course and dessert Edith pulled the first letter from her clutch and handed it to him.

"Your letter," he said faintly, turning a slight shade of gray. He took it from her hands, handling it like a temperamental weapon that may go off at any moment, and set it gingerly on the linen-covered table before him.

"Yes. We're going to read them. Not all at once, but over the next several weeks. We'll get through them together, while we've got the time."

"This is what you wanted for your gift?" He seemed almost hurt that she would want to relive it all, as though she were exacting a sort of penance for what he'd done.

"I want you to know, finally and without doubt, exactly how much I love you, and that I always loved you, even during our lost year."

"Then, they're not angry?"

"Oh some are, without a doubt, but people can love and be angry simultaneously. We'll read them together, and you'll see what you mean to me."

"We needn't go through this for me to know that."

"I think we do, my darling. Because you've always thought you love me more than I do you. You won't say it, but I know you think it's true. I just want you to understand the depth and breadth of my feelings. Please, won't you do this for me? And when we're done we'll be able to forget all of it."

"If you wish, Edith," he muttered.

"I know you don't believe me, Anthony. But trust me, please, and I promise it'll be alright."

She reached under the table to take his damaged hand, pulling it into her lap and squeezing it with both of hers.

"I trust you," he decided, "And I love you." They picked at the dessert, both of them quiet and contemplative. After paying the bill Anthony stood and, holding the letter tightly said, "Shall we?"


	14. Set Free

They read the first letter sitting out on the beach. Resting on a piece of driftwood, Edith leaned into Anthony while he spoke the words aloud. More than once he had to stop because he lost his voice from emotion.

Her words were painfully sad, and they both cried as the memories surfaced. "I know you've done what you thought was best for me, Anthony," one part of the letter read. "I do know, and I know how deeply you must be hurting as well. Please reconsider, because I'm finding it difficult to breathe without you near." He had to pause and collect himself before continuing.

"Ever yours, Edith," he finished with a sigh. They sat in silence for a long while, watching the waves reflect the warm lights from the street front behind them. Even in the darkness Edith could see the tears pouring down Anthony's face.

"I don't want to hurt you, or to make anything worse," she finally explained. "I just want you to understand what I went through, so you might realize we've made the right decision. And to know how ridiculously, monumentally happy I am now."

"I don't know how you can ever forgive me," he muttered, kissing her temple.

"You will. That's what I mean. By the last letter you'll understand everything."

And so, between long walks and sightseeing and many hours spent together in bed, Edith and Anthony read through each letter. Some were happy, chronicling her successes as a writer, and a cook's assistant. Some detailed the mundane, or told funny, incidental things Edith had long since forgotten. Others admonished him for not writing to her, for not giving her the courtesy of listening.

The worst were the letters wrinkled and stained with Edith's own tears. The writing was shaky and erratic, eternalizing the raw despair and loss that had haunted her. When Anthony read those he always responded by pulling Edith close against him and apologizing profusely, and Edith would assure him over and over that all was well, all was forgiven.

And when their words weren't enough to express all they were feeling, they would rely on other, more profound ways of communication.

A week passed, and then two. They traveled to Antibes and Grasse and Provence, to Peillon, Sainte-Agnès, and Vence. They stayed in seaside towns with pink and green stucco buildings and street merchants and rowdy nightlives. They stayed in quaint, earthy retreats perched high in the mountains, overlooking the sea and the farms and the townships that dominated the valleys below. Anthony told Edith of the rich history of County Nice, and in the markets they talked about trade and produce and culture and society.

But mostly they laughed. They were both clever, and dry, and took delight in the most ridiculous things. At one of the more rustic places they stayed, the only form of running water was what the owners called a "pluie montagne," which translated to "mountain rain," but which Anthony said really meant "rain shower."

"What on earth is a rain shower?" Edith asked as they settled into their tiny room. It had stone walls and a curved ceiling, and their bed was two singles pushed together under one sheet. But the view was breathtaking and the privacy more than welcome.

"I have a feeling we'll find out," he replied, his tone somewhat apprehensive.

They didn't have to wait long, being the only guests. There stood Sir and Lady Strallan of Locksley Estate, soaps and towels in hand, gaping at the only semblance of a bath within an hour's drive.

A three-walled structure with no roof made completely of stones, its fourth wall was open to the mountainside. The shower itself was little more than a system of connected pipes running downhill from a large basin. It had a lever that released the water through a flat, stippled sheet of metal.

"Well, if ever you wanted to prove your adventurous side, this would be the time," Anthony said, holding up a hand to the rudimentary structure. Edith accepted his challenge. One eyebrow raised, she looked him boldly in the eye and began to undress right there, in the broad, Mediterranean sunlight. And when she was done, she started in on Anthony.

"Oh no, I think I'll wait, thank you very much," he tried, backing away from her.

"Anthony Strallan, I am not doing this alone," she demanded. Then, using his own words against him she said, "We do it together, right?"

"You can't win every battle, you know," he teased, kicking off his shoes and loosening his tie.

"I don't intend on having many battles with you. Not at all."

"I can't help but notice."

"Yes?" She urged, deftly slipping the last of his clothing down his legs and throwing it on the heap.

"All of the battles you do pick seem to involve you taking off my clothes."

Edith laughed and kissed his shoulder affectionately. "How do you think I always win them?"

Standing under the spout together, Anthony tentatively pulled the lever. A rush of icy water fell over both of them. Edith shrieked and instinctively snapped her arms around Anthony, pressing the entire length of her naked body to his and gasping from the cold.

"Perhaps we should limit our adventures in the future," he managed, clearly suffering from the freezing water that trickled over them. But as their bodies adjusted to the temperature and they grew more comfortable, Edith laughed again at the absurdity. Stretching on her tiptoes, she pressed her mouth to his, making her intentions clear. "Then again," he said huskily as he kissed her neck, "maybe we should install one of these at Locksley."

It was only one of many such escapades, but likely the one Edith would remember best. They had such fun, working their way along the coast, Edith presenting her letters periodically as they went.

When they opened the last envelope, number 338, they were sitting in the Jardin de St Martin in Monaco, eating cold chicken with beer and watching the sailboats far below in the glittering green bay. It was a short letter, written in neat scribe the day of the Lesters' dinner party.

_My Dearest, Absent, Anthony,_

_ I had a dream about you last night that I can't seem to clear from my thoughts. We were near the stream, at Locksley, down by our favorite picnic spot. (Do you remember as clearly as I?) At any rate, I was sitting in the grass and you were standing, hand in your pocket, watching the fish jump in the water. We said nothing profound, really, but you were there and I was happy. When I asked if I might kiss you, you said, "I'm yours, Edith, you needn't ask permission." But when I stood, you looked away, and when I reached for you, you disappeared._

_ Oh how I cried when I woke. I'm glad I'm well-practiced at doing this quietly, or I fear my sobs would have roused the entire household. Anna, who seems to have a sixth sense about these things, came to dress me first this morning. When she asked whatever was the matter, I simply said your name. Because it's not that I'm angry anymore, or even sad necessarily. It's that without you here, there is such vacancy in my life, such emptiness in every day that I feel completely hopeless._

_ I keep waiting for you to turn up. At a shop, or in the village, or a concert like the ones you used to take me to. I don't know where you've gone, and I don't know that I'll ever see you again. But should I ever lay eyes on you, I will never, ever let you go. I will chase you around the world if I have to, as I should have done that wretched day in the church. And I will do everything and anything I can to convince you of what I am so certain: that my heart beats not for me, but for you._

_ I'm yours, my Anthony. I always was, I think, from the day I was born. And the only thing I hold dear now is the hope that we will find each other again, in this life or the next, because we belong together._

_ I have to dress for yet another party I have no interest in attending. I have to make graces and put on airs and try to please my family. Have I told you my secret to getting by? It's to pretend you are there beside me, whispering clever things to me about the absurdities of our class, like we used to._

_ I love you. I love you. I love you._

_ Thinking of you always, even when I sleep,_

_ Your Edith_

_ They were quiet for_ a long while. Edith leaned into Anthony's side, his arm around her as they processed all that she had said, all that they had felt over the course of a long and lonely year. Or, to be exact, 338 days.

"Thank you, for making me read those," he finally said after a time. His voice was quiet, contemplative, but not sad or overwrought.

"Do you see now why I wanted you to?"

"I do, sweet one. And you were right to make us hash it out."

"I adore you. And not just that, but I need you. Do you believe me now when I say that I rely on you? That you make me happy?"

"Yes, I do. I'm only sorry I didn't know before. Before I left. I am so sorry."

"Oh, Anthony. I didn't really know before you left. That's my point. No more apologies. We're here, together, and we're happy. And now that we're certain of each other, of us, we can carry on being happy and not have to look back."

Edith stood, taking the bundle of letters from their picnic basket. She set three aside, saying, "These are the most important. Lest we forget, we'll revisit them." Then she pulled Anthony up after her.

Walking down the stone path that meandered through the Garden, Edith led Anthony to one of the many turnouts that overlooked the sea. Sitting at the bench, partially hidden by the lush greenery, Edith handed the letters to Anthony.

"Let's let it go, Anthony. All of it. All the sadness and insecurity and miscommunication. Let's set ourselves free, hmm?"

And together, one by one, they threw their sadness and grief over the cliff, watching the papers catch and blow in the wind before falling into the waves that crashed into the rocks below. And when the last of them were gone, and an unbridled happiness settled on them like the hot Mediterranean sun, Anthony pressed Edith's hand to his lips and said, "Are you ready to go home?" She nodded. They both were ready, and long-overdue.

* * *

Thanks again for continuing to read. Now it's back to England, to Downton and Locksley. I'm sure there's lots to be caught up on after so many weeks away. :)


	15. Back Home

It took no time at all for Edith and Anthony to settle into things back home. Everything seemed just as they left it. The village gossipmongers had their fill of opinions, of course, but when Lady Willa Alexander ran away with a Spanish oil man, Edith and Anthony were largely forgotten. Mary and Matthew were living at Downton, much to Edith's surprise. It turns out Mary felt at home only there, and Matthew was essentially running the entire estate. Mary gave no indication of the tension this caused. Sybil had returned to Dublin with Tom and Madeline.

"With the caveat," Mary explained as she and Edith walked through Downton's garden, "that should she have another baby, they would move back here."

"Really?" Edith asked, surprised.

"Yes. Apparently Tom's family is less than supportive, given Sybil's title and English accent. She's done everything short of dying her hair red and changing her name to Bernadette, but they won't accept her."

"That's awful. They seemed less than pleasant at her wedding but I had hoped they'd make strides, as we've done."

"Yes, despite myself I find I like Tom very much indeed. I might even adore the man, but don't tell him that, and certainly don't tell Papa."

The sisters giggled, Mary making note of Edith's lightness. "You're so much more pleasant when you're happy, did you know? If I'd thought Sir Anthony could make me like you I'd have never doubted him."

"I'll let him know," Edith said sarcastically. "And I am happy. Irrepressibly so. And you?"

"Oh, we're alright. You know me, I have everything I could want so naturally I'm restless and melancholy," Mary said wryly, trying to make a joke of the sadness Edith detected.

"What is it?"

"Matthew is under the impression that we're never going to have children. We've been married well over a year now, and he thinks there's something wrong. He wants me to go to Dr. Clarkson. We fought over it."

"I'm so sorry, Mary. What do you think?"

"I think that we'll have children when we stop thinking about not having children. But Matthew isn't satisfied. I think what really worries him is the prospect of another conflict with the entail."

"I can understand that, I suppose. Still, it's a great deal of pressure on you both."

"And you?" Mary asked, clearly uncomfortable with the deeply personal focus. Even while cultivating their newfound friendship, Mary had to take it gradually and incrementally. The new Edith, finally brought into the world by her marriage to Anthony, was much more willing and open.

"Oh, I don't know. Certainly no news yet, but it could happen. It could not. Either way I'll be glad to spend my days with Anthony. We're doing so well just the two of us, I think it would be enough."

"You don't sound very sure."

Edith closed her eyes and tilted her head back, feeling the full August sun warm her cheeks. She was thinking, and let out a great sigh before answering. "You and I, we were never very maternal, were we? Sybil has always needed to heal things and nurture things. From rescuing the pigeons when we were children to taking that maid girl under her wing, to nursing. And now she's a mother, and she's a wonderful mother."

"We were always too busy trying to scratch each other's eyes out, I suppose." Edith opened her eyes to laugh at Mary's wry, but truthful, response.

"Yes, but that's just it. I never thought of having children, never once did I care. It was just this distant thing I accepted would also happen to me one day. But then I met Anthony," Edith said, gesturing for them to sit on one of the stone benches along the hedge. "I met Anthony and he made me feel so capable and loved, and out of the blue I'm bursting to share that love with the next generation. Every time he smiles, or does one of his little gestures, I can just imagine three or four little ones bobbing about his feet doing the exact same things. And I long to feel a baby inside me, strange as it sounds; to foster a tangible little being from the love I have for that dear, bewildered man. I just—"

Realizing she was rambling, Edith stopped mid-sentence. She was embarrassed at the absolute giddiness of her speech, and the deeply obvious sincerity behind it. Edith had never spoken those words to anyone, even Anthony, but she'd been feeling them so strongly she couldn't stop herself when Mary asked the right question.

Mary, in the mean time, looked a strange combination of puzzled and empathetic.

"I'm sorry," Edith murmured, "I didn't mean to get carried away."

"When in the world did you get like this?"

"Like what?" Edith asked, suddenly feeling all the insecurity of her youth groping it's way through her sister's black eyes.

"Happy, and fulfilled, and outright lovely." Edith grinned, flustered, and looked to the ground with a shrug. "I think I owe Anthony yet another 'thank you, I'm sorry'," Mary laughed. After a few moments of contemplative silence, she plucked a geranium from the bush beside them, sniffed it delicately, and tossed it into Edith's lap.

"What's this for?" Edith asked.

"Geraniums. Symbolize love, protection, and fertility. Best of luck." Mary's face was serious only a few moments before both of them burst into laughter.

When the sun moved overhead and stole away the shade Edith and Mary had been enjoying, they wandered back into the house to search for their respective husbands. To Edith's horror and Mary's surprise, they followed the sound of raised voices to Papa's study. Inside, Anthony, Matthew, and Robert were all standing over a table of papers. Edith was shamefully relieved to find Anthony had nothing to do with the conflict.

"The Gunners have farmed that land for a hundred years, I'm not about to tell them they must suddenly change their crops or get out," Robert barked, either not noticing or not caring the women entered.

"I'm not suggesting that. Surely you must see the need for crop rotations, though. And this land here," Matthew pointed fiercely to one of the maps, "It's far better suited for grazing. They've been trying to cultivate it for years with no results. If we just redistribute—"

"I will not take their land!" Robert snapped. Matthew's head dropped, his hands in fists, far apart on the table. Mary looked absolutely heartbroken, though neither of the gentlemen seemed to take heed.

Anthony, all the while, was standing between the two of them, his hand resting on his chest in a most perplexed gesture, but his face was wise and patient. He seemed almost sad for the two of them, whilst also loathing that he bore witness to any of it. When he looked up and saw his wife and sister-in-law, he snapped to.

"Ah, ladies, good afternoon. Enjoy your walk?" he tried, moving around the table to meet Edith's hands.

"Papa, Matthew, what's going on?" Mary asked.

Matthew tried to ease the situation and her worrying, explaining, "Nothing, just talking business and all, no need to bother you with the details." Mary, too smart to be mollified, turned to Papa.

"It seems all those years in law school have taught your husband how to run a very large, very complicated estate and farm lands, and I am a fool for thinking I have some say in the matter," Robert spat bitterly, folding up some of the papers before storming out the other door.

"Matthew?" Mary urged, but he seemed too angry to speak. Instead he shook his head, his thin lips wound up in frustration, and went out the opposite direction of Papa.

Alone in the study in a stunned silence, Edith and Anthony waited for Mary to speak. Her icy façade was cracking slightly. Though her porcelain face was still and beautiful as ever, her eyes were undeniably sad. Something in her general manner suggested she'd lived this argument many times over during the recent months.

"The two most important men in my life, and the only two people I've ever been truly loyal to, and they're killing each other. And I'm forever being dismissed like a child or left in the dark," she finally said weakly, letting her hands fall to her sides in a gesture of futility.

Anthony surprised Edith by speaking up, his voice firm and steady. Even in that moment it sent a small thrill through her. "Mary, they both want what's best for the estate. Eventually, whatever that entails will become clear and they can start working together at it."

"Is Matthew right? About the crops and the sheep I mean. Is the land getting misused?" She asked, Anthony having restored a very small shred of hope to her.

"I believe so, yes. Not irreparably, but it could be greatly improved with some minimal adjustments. But what you have to understand is that Robert is not just a manager of his land. He feels it and breathes it, from the hay and the barley right down to every Ewe out in those fields. For Matthew, right now, it is a business endeavor. For your father it is a responsibility and a way of life. Both of them have the best of intentions; they're just not understanding one another."

Mary nodded numbly, but the deep breath she released seemed one of acknowledgment. She looked Anthony in the eye—something that rarely happened—and said, "Thank you, Sir Anthony. I don't know that I can say really how you've helped us all."

Anthony just smiled, humbly dismissive of her acclaim. She looked at Edith and said, "I think I'll go find Matthew. Do you mind if we continue our visit to another day?"

"Of course. We'll be heading home. But do come for luncheon tomorrow."

"I will. I'll bring Mama as well, if that's alright."

"Of course. You're welcome any time."

With another awkward exchange of nods, Mary swept out of the study. Edith rang for Carson and turned back to Anthony, her dear heroic Wiseman. "I'm so proud to call you my husband."

"What on earth for?" he asked, not really taking her seriously.

"Because you are inherently good, and kind, and I don't think you realize what you've just done for my sister."

"I only told her what I thought."

"You gave her insight which she would never have come to on her own. And you gave her hope. And you were kind to her despite her years of coldness."

"Edith," he asked, changing his tone, "do you love your sister?"

"Mary? Oh, I suppose I do, yes. She's my sister. We haven't always been friends, but we're getting there."

"Then if you love her, I love her. I'd do anything in my power to help any of your family because they're mine now too. Because, Edith, if you hurt I hurt. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

Edith found herself fighting tears. After all they'd been through he still surprised her with the extent of his devotion. "Thank you," was her simple reply, but her expression said much more, as did the kiss she gave him.

She was pressed between her husband and the back of the sofa when Carson cleared his throat, clearly displeased.

"Carson, would you kindly have Samson bring the car around? Sir Anthony and I will be leaving."

"Milady," he horned like a great, stuffy toad. Edith shook her head as he left. "Oh dear, I'm afraid Carson and I will never be friends."

"Not to worry, darling. If you can make Mary befriend anyone, surely lesser miracles are well within reach, hmm?"

Edith laughed, watching her husband as they collected their things from the footman and eventually climbed into the car. It was such a strange thing, being so entirely in awe of another human being. Especially one who led you by the small of your back and, when no one was looking, allowed his hand to slip just a bit lower than decorum allowed. Anthony was spot-on, as usual. It was' miraculous,' their love. Ridiculous as she felt for the thought, she knew it to be true.

"What's going on in the pretty head of yours?" Anthony asked on the way home. Edith hadn't realized he'd been watching her as well.

"We're very lucky, is all."

"Indeed," he agreed, running his hand under her chin.

"And you're utterly brilliant."

"Goes without saying."

"And the second we get home I plan on taking one of those excursions to the orchards we talked about. Remember?"

Anthony thought back to that first morning they had together, to Edith's allusion to more enjoyable outdoor activities than simply a leisurely stroll. And suddenly his heart began to race.

Edith had a way-with a slight shifting of her hips, a roll of her shoulders, and a certain seriousness to her smirk-of conveying exactly what was on her mind. It was the exact expression she was giving him now.

"Samson," Anthony said coolly, leaning forward and addressing his oblivious chauffeur. "Would you be so kind as to drop us at the gate? We're going to take a turn through the orchards before we change for dinner."

Samson nodded once in confirmation and Anthony settled back in the seat, pulling Edith close to him and kissing the corner of her mouth. _Miraculous_ _indeed_, she thought, turning her head so he might do a proper job of it.


	16. Stormy Weather

The first storms of autumn seemed to arrive early that year. It was barely September when the wind picked up and the skies grew dark with tumultuous clouds, sending everyone indoors for days on end. Edith and Anthony were perfectly content, having an excuse to sit near the fire in their library for hours, reading and talking. When Anthony was working, Edith was usually pouring over some new novel he'd suggested, or learning the ins and outs of estate management from him. He made a good and willing teacher.

She was painfully aware that her role as lady of the house was not nearly the success her role of wife had been. Edwards, Anthony's butler, found her youthful ardor unfortunately lacking in propriety and her skills in house management wanting.

The cook, Mrs. Dunfy who was ancient as Methuselah, was forever huffing and grumbling below stairs. When asked to select a menu Lady Strallan's usual response was, "Whatever you think is best," before skipping out the door behind Sir Strallan as he visited tenants or ran errands in town.

She didn't care to change a thing about Locksley Manor except the arrangement of a few rooms, including hers and Anthony's, and the arrival of some two hundred books from her father's home. She was either blissfully happy with everything or completely disinterested in the great house, either prospect the housekeeper, Mrs. Watson, found disturbing.

Edwards and the staff also found it quite alarming that Edith did not wish to hire a proper ladies' maid. "I'll really only need help getting in and out of evening dresses," she explained. The new style was much more manageable and secretly Edith couldn't bear the thought of anyone but Anna helping her. Given that Anna had recently left Downton, ready to give birth any day to Mr. Bates' first child, there was definitely no chance of that.

Most regrettable of all, Edwards always seemed to walk in on Anthony and Edith in the most awkward times. This didn't bother Edith in the least, or even seem to fluster Anthony like it would have in the past. But poor Mr. Edwards was always staring at rug or ceiling now, and triple checking before entering rooms.

On this particular day, with the rain blowing sideways against the great windows and the fire doing little to heat the capacious library, Edith watched her husband from a blanket near the hearth. The latest collection from some American poet named Pound was open before her, but she hadn't turned a page in quite a while.

Anthony was using his typewriter to add to his logs of figures and tenant notes and whatnot. The latest catalogue of farming equipment was open next to the daily paper and his well-worn farmer's almanac. Edith watched his eyes travel from one document to another, the way his brow shifted in response to what he read. She assumed, thinker that he was, at least a dozen things were being considered in his mind at the moment.

"Anthony?"

"Yes, my love?" he asked distractedly, not looking up at her.

"How much work have you got left for today?"

"Oh, I'm still catching up from our holiday I'm afraid. Probably another hour at least."

"Very well."

"Do you need me?"

"Always. But not urgently. Finish your work. I don't wish to be a distraction."

"I'd hardly call you a mere distraction, sweet one."

Edith was suddenly warmed through. "Sweet one" was not an endearment he used often. It was saved for only the times he felt particularly gentle and tender. He did not use it in lust, or worry, or for the everyday things. Only when they felt those quiet, honeyed exchanges, that unobtrusive, encompassing fondness and care for each other. When Anthony called her his sweet one, she knew it meant that he was utterly gratified just to be in her company, and vice-versa. She never, ever tired of hearing it.

Smiling uncontrollably, her heart swelling until her chest ached from trying to contain it, Edith bit her lip and turned back to her book. Each clack of Anthony's typewriter was another reminder of his presence.

And in one of those thoughts she'd been having more and more lately, she wondered what he might call their children. If they had a daughter, perhaps she would be his "little one," a son perhaps "my boy." She could picture so clearly, the two of them doing this exact thing. Only instead of a book of imagist poetry, Edith would have a gurgling baby, or possibly a stuffed toy and a child beside her just learning to walk. And oh, how she longed to know what they might look like; a girl with her proportions and Anthony's eyes or a son who would grow to Anthony's height but have the defined Crawley jaw.

And then her heart ached again but for an entirely different reason.

"What's the matter?" Anthony asked, causing Edith to jump. She was totally unaware he'd been paying any attention to her at all.

"Nothing," she said after a moment, forcing herself to smile.

Anthony rose from his desk and came to her, sitting on the edge of the sofa so he might examine her face properly. She didn't look at him, instead busying herself with folding the blanket she'd be using and stacking the floor cushions. She knew that he'd be able to read her as easily as one of his ledgers.

"Please tell me. I can tell something is on your mind."

Edith threw the cushions in a fit and turned to him, hands on her hips as she knelt before him. "It's as infuriating as it is endearing that you know me so well."

"Well as long as we're acknowledging that I do, won't you tell me what's the matter?"

Edith sighed and leaned over, folding her arms under her chin and lying across Anthony's lap. "I'm really perfectly content," she began. Anthony was rubbing her back and waiting for the "but" when Edwards came in with a note.

The poor butler saw only Anthony's back and Edith's feet extending from the side of the settee and turned white as a ghost. He nearly dropped the tray that held the letter and began apologizing profusely. Oblivious as Anthony could be, he did not understand the old man's horror until Edith sat up and Edwards nearly fainted.

"Oh for heaven's sake," Anthony muttered mildly, "Please bring me the letter, Edwards."

At first Edwards seemed afraid to approach, but upon doing so he was able to see the floor cushions, Edith's confusion, and the innocence of their locations. He said nothing but stared blankly out the window while Anthony quickly read the note.

"Lord Grantham will be coming over later to meet with me, Edwards. Please have tea ready in the study at two."

"Very good, Milord," Edwards whispered before leaving. He very nearly ran out the door."

"What on _earth_ was that about?" Edith asked when they were alone again.

Anthony looked quite displeased. "I believe he thought you to be in a rather compromising and private position when he walked in," he managed, standing and walking to the window.

It took Edith a minute to understand before she burst into cackles. "Surely you have to see the humor in that," she managed, surprised at Anthony's sudden surliness.

"I do not. He'd never have jumped to that conclusion if we—if I—were more cognizant of our public behavior. I have shown you too little respect in front of the staff."

"Anthony, what's this about?" Her voice was soft, but worried. She sensed the sudden change in him. He was no longer relaxed or amusable.

When he turned to her, an all-too-familiar regret was pulling on his handsome face and shoulders. "I've failed you in so many ways, my darling. I bedded you before we were married, which I did without a church, on a Thursday no less, knowing all the while I don't deserve you. I've completely forgotten all discretion in my conduct towards you in front of others, particularly my poor, scandalized staff, and I think perhaps worst of all, I've yet to give you children, which I know you want more than anything."

Edith had been building her angry retorts one by one as he counted off his list. After all the healing they'd been through, to be back at square one, she could feel the frustration bubbling over. But then the last part, about the children, washed it all away.

"Anthony, come here," she demanded gently, pulling him to the sofa. He dropped down heavily, an exhausted and defeated sigh escaping him. Edith sat against her husband, feet tucked beneath her so she might face him assertively.

"Anthony," she began again, taking his hand in hers. "I should be mad at your for drudging all this up and for essentially saying you've married me and loved me against your better judgment. And especially for regretting your unbridled affection. But I'm not."

"You're not," he repeated quietly.

"No, my dear husband, I'm not. Because it's what you do. It's part of who we are. You worry, all the time. You worry for both of us. And I realize it's a great burden for you to carry. But it's your job, too. And I am so grateful to you for it." She ran her hand through his hair then, in the way she knew he always found soothing. "And it's my job to reassure us, darling, both of us, that we are happy, that we are good for each other, and that we are perfectly well."

Anthony turned those marvelous blue eyes on her, the storminess in them clearing at her words. "And the children?"

"Do you want children?" She asked, finding it difficult to believe it took them this long to broach the subject.

"I do," he whispered.

"As do I. And we'll have them. I know we will. So worry, darling. Worry for both of us as you must. But let me do my job as well and reassure you once in a while, alright?"

He buried his face against her for a moment, out of relief and surrender. When he lifted his head again his lips were on Edith's, soft but desperate somehow. And so, she did indeed reassure him.

They made love frantically then, not bothering to get each other undressed, sitting on the couch. It was so profoundly curative, so powerful. When they had finished, breathless and gratified, Edith did not immediately move from his lap. She held his head in her hands and looked down at him, conveying so much in those moments of silence.

When Edwards came in to announce Lord Grantham's arrival he did not seem so shocked to see Edith sitting with Sir Anthony on the couch. Even if the butler had been able to see over the back of the couch, her skirt puddled around she and Anthony to sufficiently cover them. But as it was, all Edwards saw was Edith's hands clasped behind his master's head and a perfectly calm Lady Strallan responding, "Thank you, Edwards. Sir Strallan will be right out."

"Thank you," he said to Edith as they parted. She helped him with his trousers and gave him an appraising once-over before sending him to meet her father. His hair was slightly mussed in the back, but nearly anyone that knew them as the Strallans knew it wasn't unusual.

Edith was leaning against the arm of the settee, looking out the great windows at the gray, wet day, slightly flushed and smiling to herself about what had passed when Anthony came rushing back in. The look on his face was one a school master might give a student that said something terribly clever but still inappropriate—halfway between appreciative and admonishing.

"Anthony, what—" she managed before he bent over her, kissed her forehead and pulled something from his pocket. He placed it into her hands subtly. As he left he was blushing profusely and looked her in the eye sternly as he called, "So sorry, Robert. I'll be right with you."

Edith couldn't help but laugh out loud as she unfolded the silk nickers her poor, flummoxed Anthony had just returned to his rather brazen wife.

* * *

Thank you so much for continuing to read and review. I've fallen in love all over again with these two in every chapter I have the pleasure of writing. Even if there's no justice in the 'real' D.A., these two seem like they're sticking it out for the long haul...

Much more to follow, I think. I promise it won't be too tedious! :) Thanks again.


	17. Autumn

So much happened in such a short time that Edith could hardly keep track of which day of the week it was. It started with Mrs. Dunfy giving her notice. Anthony claimed her age had finally caught up with her, but Edith knew he was softening the truth—that the young Lady Strallan had driven away one of his most senior staff members. Edith apologized profusely, but Anthony wouldn't hear it. He offered Mrs. Dunfy a cottage on the estate and her weekly pay as long as she lived. He called it her retirement though Edith had a sinking suspicion it was a sort of penance for the way his new wife changed things. Still, Edith was glad to find Mrs. Bass was more than willing to leave London and take post.

"I've been doing this work for thirty years," Edwards muttered to Mrs. Watson as they watched a somewhat tearful reunion between the robust new cook and Lady Strallan, "And never have I seen a Lady fall to pieces over a cook." Luckily, the rest of the staff was all too happy to adjust under a new Mistress and Edith slowly started to take part in the running of the house.

No sooner had they settled Mrs. Bass then Edith got word that Anna had given birth to a healthy boy, named John for his father but called Jack. Edith was overjoyed for her dear friend, and went with Mary to visit as soon as was appropriate.

And then the letter came from Sybil that simply said, "Start softening Papa now. The Bransons arrive the second week of October."

"Does that mean she's having another baby already?" Edith had asked rhetorically. Anthony, who of course had no way of knowing, simply shrugged. A quick call on the Crawleys answered all questions.

"She's being particularly coy, which is annoying Granny to no end, but it seems they are indeed expecting. And relatively soon I imagine, given the short notice," Mary explained as she and Edith took a stroll. Poor Mary did not hide her jealousy well, Edith noticed.

Harvest time was upon the Strallans, and Locksley was booming with activity and demands. Anthony spent long days running between tenants and town. His almost spiritual connection with the land paired with his excellent knowledge of business and trade made Anthony the ideal landowner. Though Edith missed him, she was tickled to see how much he delighted in the work.

Edith, keeping busy as well, spent the next weeks helping prepare for Tom and Sybil's arrival. And when she wasn't at Downton or accompanying Anthony on his endeavors, she was at the Bates' cottage, visiting with Anna and Baby Jack.

The Bates boy was chubby and sweet and looked just like his father, which enchanted Anna to no end. Edith would sit in the tiny kitchen with Anna, doing sewing or baking or holding the baby. On those afternoons, she couldn't help but feel grounded and incredibly blessed, as though everything in the world was just as it should be.

"It's no wonder," Anthony mused as he climbed into bed with his wife one night, "that by the time we meet for dinner it feels like days since we've seen each other. I miss you, you know, and we're never apart for more than a matter of hours. Isn't that ridiculous?"

"No, I feel quite the same way," Edith sighed, wriggling against Anthony under the sheets with a little shiver. The nights were definitely getting colder; there was no doubting it now. Anthony's hand slid over Edith's side, coming to a rest somewhere between hip and bottom as they pulled against each other. "What is ridiculous is how tired I've been. It's been so busy I can't seem to catch up."

"You smell like cinnamon and cloves," he muttered as he kissed the top of her hair. Her small hands pressed against his bare chest and the weight of her against him was all the comfort he wanted after a long day of farmers and tedious drives and figures.

"I made gingerbread at Anna's today. The spices were fresh and when you grind them, well the smell tends to linger. Does it bother you?"

"On the contrary," he said, pulling her closer. She could hear the smile in his voice, through her eyes were closed. She could also hear his breathing and his heartbeat, feel the warmth radiating from him as she molded herself against the length of his body. His thumb was drawing tiny circles on her hip as he cupped her bottom possessively. She loved when he held her like that, appreciatively and protectively, like she was his.

Edith groaned suddenly, a sound Anthony immediately recognized as one of frustration. "Whatever is the matter with you?" he asked playfully.

"Oh, I can barely keep my eyes open but you feel so wonderful that I just can't make up my mind," she complained, sincerely annoyed at the dilemma. Her hips were shifting in that way Anthony couldn't resist.

"Mm, I believe I know exactly how you mean, my dearest darling."

That seem to be all the influence Edith required to make a decision. She pretended to be perturbed as she pushed herself off from his chest and disappeared to the foot of their oversized bed. She pulled his pajamas down from his feet, swiftly and efficiently—Anthony would expect nothing less from his enterprising Edith. When she reappeared from under the covers, hair slightly mussed from her excursion, he laughed at her verve.

"Hello Wife," he greeted, genuinely glad to see her.

"Hello Husband." Her smile was so tender and mild, Anthony was just about undone with love for her. "Are you going to kiss me now, or will I have to beg?"

"I was just thinking."

"Of?"

"You. You're beautiful." Edith had never believed this of herself, but when Anthony said it—his luminous blue eyes boring into her, his voice quiet and staid—she had no choice but to believe it.

And oh, how she repaid him then, for making her feel beautiful.

And suddenly it was October. The great oaks lining the road to Locksley Manor were turning the most magnificent shades of gold and amber and red. The summer storms had dissipated and all of Yorkshire was enjoying that brief reprieve of cold but sunny days before November's deluge began. Edith loved everything about autumn, from the apples and gourds to the crisp mornings to the promise of winter nearly within reach. And this autumn, curling up to Anthony each night, kissing him hello and goodbye and in between, well it was the best one she could ever remember.

"I love you," she said suddenly as Samson maneuvered their car down the long drive towards the Abbey. It was the morning of Sybil's much anticipated arrival, and Edith and Anthony were there promptly at ten, as promised.

Anthony, who had been watching the leaves blow along the ditch, deliberately did not look at his wife. "Do you?" he said coolly, "Well that's nice, dear."

Edith smiled despite herself, but gave his arm a good pinch until he folded with a laugh. "I love you, Lady Edith Strallan. Ever so."

They arrived in the great hall just in time to see Matthew storming from the library, hands in fists and brow deeply knotted. "Good morning, Matthew," Edith said tentatively.

"Is it?" he snapped. Immediately regretting his rudeness, Matthew dropped his head and sighed. "I'm sorry. I just seem to reliving the same conversations over and over and it's not getting us anywhere." He seemed to calm himself, walking back to kiss Edith on the cheek and, she was glad to notice, give Anthony a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Papa will come around, Matthew. He just doesn't like being told what to do."

"Is that where Mary gets it?" he joked. Then, as though something dawned on him he turned to Anthony. "Would you look over something for me? Perhaps help clarify it for Robert and myself?"

Anthony gestured lightly with his good hand, "If you think it would help, of course. I don't wish to interfere."

"Interfere? You're the only one Robert will listen to anymore."

Matthew, apparently bolstered, led the way back to the library where Robert was presumably roaring like an angry bear over yet another estate dispute.

Anthony had Robert's experience and understood his sentimental hold on the estate, but he also had Matthew's astute head for business and willingness to change. What could easily have landed him in a no-win tug-of-war between the two gentlemen Crawleys ended up being hugely beneficial to all parties. Matthew and Robert both trusted Anthony's opinion and candor, Anthony was happy to analyze a good puzzle. Edith was glad to see an avenue that led to her father finding her husband as invaluable as she did.

"I think I'll go find a cup and a seat," Edith said. Before they separated Anthony took Edith's chin in his hand and gave her a chaste kiss. When she opened her eyes he was frowning at her.

"You're looking rather pale. Promise me you'll start getting more rest, hmm?"

"Promise," she whispered with a half-smile.

Edith was asleep on the drawing room sofa when the rest of the women came down.

"Sir Anthony keeping you up too late at night?" Mary asked boldly as she took a seat by Edith. She said it just loudly enough that Granny might hear and disapprove.

"Mary, we're all relieved to see you and Edith are such good friends these days, but please might you keep your secret confidences secret? For all our sakes?" Lady Violet chirped. She looked reproachful, but Edith caught the little wink Granny shot her, as though she were secretly pleased Edith was enjoying her married life. The notion that Granny might have worried about _that_ made Edith blush profusely.

"Actually, I've just been run ragged with all that's been happening in the last weeks. I can't believe we're well into October already," Edith said, clearing the embarrassed tension.

"I agree," Isobel offered.

"Yes, and it's high time I have all my girls under one roof again," Cora said, ringing for Carson to bring in tea.

"Sorry to disappoint, Mama, but Anthony and I will not be moving to Downton," Edith snipped, feeling slightly overlooked again.

"Of course, my darling, but you'll be here to visit enough, won't you? That's all I want. And to watch my grandchildren grow up, of course."

"I can't blame you," said Isobel. "There's a special thrill at becoming a grandmother, isn't there?"

Edith could practically hear Mary's muscles tighten, and the hand that rested by Edith's on the cushion clenched into a white fist. Edith slid hers over it deftly, a small offering of reassurance. Isobel's hints had been growing increasingly blatant and Mary was particularly sensitive to them these days.

"And what time are my sister and brother-in-law due to arrive?" Edith asked before the talk of babies could continue.

"Any time. They were due on the late morning train, and Belford was sent to fetch them," Mary answered, casting a quick, grateful glance to Edith.

"And where, may I ask, are your husbands?" Violet inquired impatiently. Then before anyone could respond she said, "Arguing over land and beast, I suppose."

"Not exactly, Mama," Robert corrected as he entered, followed closely by a much more pleasant looking Matthew and dear, dutiful Anthony. Edith's breath still caught whenever he walked into a room, which she took as a very good thing.

The gentlemen had barely sat down when Carson announced the car coming down the drive. Mary and Edith insisted it was unnecessary to call the staff to a formal receiving line and Robert quite agreed. Instead, the Crawleys and the Strallans all waited eagerly in the cold as the motor rumbled towards them.

Tom was the first to step out, offering an awkward and shy smile before turning to take Madeline. Much to Cora's delight, he set the one-year-old down and let her toddle to her grandparents on her own two feet. "Oh, I can't believe how big she is!" Cora cried, reaching for the dark-haired little thing, an absolute image of her mother.

"Careful, Mama, I may just take it personally," Sybil joked. Her belly preceded her achy, swollen frame as she emerged from the motor, reaching for Tom's hand. "My ankles are swollen, by back is stiff, and I feel as large as an elephant."

Fully in view, the entire party was shocked to see Sybil was at least eight months pregnant, if not further along. The sisters rushed to her, arms extended.

Medically-minded Isobel frowned. "What on earth are you doing travelling in your condition? You should be resting with your feet elevated and drinking plenty of warm goat's milk."

"I tried to convince her, Cousin Isobel, but she wouldn't hear it," Tom said quietly.

"It's the curse of being a Crawley, I'm afraid, Tom. We never do what we're told, especially if it's in our best interest," Granny quipped. Gesturing to the door she said, "Well, might we all go in before we catch our death in this cold?"

"So good to be home," Sybil sighed to no one but her sisters.

It was a short visit, Sybil and Tom needing rest and time to settle. But Edith was pleased to hear that Anthony enjoyed Tom very much, despite his politics. She was also pleased to return to Locksley, to the place she felt most at home. When she and Anthony retired for the evening it was earlier than usual, but Edith could barely keep her eyes open.

"Why don't we sleep in tomorrow, hmm? I can put off my morning and we'll sleep late and then have a nice leisurely brunch. Take a bit of a rest. What do you think?"

"Lovely," Edith sighed, pulling his injured arm around her shoulder as they curled together against the thick down pillows. Though Edith suspected it would take a great deal more than a lie-in to cure what she had, she'd wait to say anything until after her visit with Dr. Clarkson next week. "Good night, my wonderful Anthony."

"Good night, my sweet," Anthony whispered, kissing her shoulder, utterly unaware of the blissful things on his wife's mind, "and pleasant dreams."

* * *

This chapter is more of an interlude before the next big turn of events. :) Hope you don't mind! And thank you, of course, for continuing to read. I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying writing this instead of my Master's thesis... I can't wait to get the next chapter up!


	18. Sybil

A secret is a most challenging thing to keep when you are in love with, and married to, your best friend. Even more so when that person can read nearly every thought that passes your mind. Edith was having a rather difficult time waiting until her consultation with Dr. Clarkson before telling Anthony what she suspected. Given how prone her dear husband was to worry, she wanted to be absolutely certain, though deep down she had no doubt.

And every time the thought resurfaced Edith would feel her chest swell with absolute, serene elation.

"Edith, did you hear?" Mary asked urgently. "Mama said to run and fetch Dr. Clarkson."

Edith had been in the hallway, bringing a pitcher of water for Sybil. The poor thing had been in labor since the small hours of morning and it was now past seven at night. Edith passed the pitcher to Mary and hurried back down the stairs.

Dr. Clarkson was standing with the gentlemen in the library. Tom looked dreadfully anxious despite having gone through all this before. Matthew and Anthony were standing beside him, silent but dutifully present. Papa and Clarkson were having a hushed conversation near the fireplace. When Edith came in all the men looked at her expectantly.

"Oh, nothing to report, Mama just asked me to fetch Dr. Clarkson."

"No need to worry, gentlemen. Could be a long while yet," the kindly doctor said, following Edith from the room.

"I think Mama would just feel better if you were in with the nurse. I believe she's worried about Sybil's pain."

"I see," he said simply as they worked their way to the stairs. "And how are you feeling? I saw in my diary I'm to call on you in a day or so. Everything is alright, I trust?" He was asking conversationally, but paused when Edith couldn't quite articulate a response. The way she wrung her hands and blushed, and her irrepressible grin—he had seen it many times before.

"And how long have you suspected?" the doctor asked simply, coming to a stop on the landing.

"Several weeks, I suppose. We've all been so busy I just thought," but she trailed off. No matter how old she got or how married she was, it was never easy speaking about such things with a man; even one as composed and unshakable as Dr. Clarkson. "At any rate, I've been incredibly tired and somewhat lightheaded."

"Lady Strallan," he sighed, "It's my experience that most women who think they know, do know. But if you'd like I can perform a basic exam and see if I can offer more conclusive answers. It won't take long."

"Oh, would you, Dr. Clarkson? I'd be ever so grateful."

"Very well, let me check on your sister first."

It felt rather ridiculous, really, confirming her own pregnancy while her sister was in labor down the hall. But as practical as Edith was, it simply didn't make sense to call Clarkson to Locksley tomorrow when they were all sitting around Downton for hours, waiting for Sybil's second child to arrive. _Two birds, one stone_, she thought to herself.

Doctor Richard Clarkson was a wise and moderate man, not unlike her Anthony. He spoke to Edith gently and frankly. He also insisted that at least one other woman be in the room, "as is practice." Edith couldn't bear the thought of flaunting her own good fortune to Mary, who was quietly suffering Sybil's childbearing. Unsure of who to ask, she called for Cousin Isobel, trusting her medical background and her integrity.

"About six weeks, if I were to venture a guess. Not far at all," Clarkson confirmed as Edith beamed at him and Cousin Isobel. "Most women have some idea of when the child was conceived, so you may know better."

Edith blushed as she thought back to that afternoon on the couch, when she and Anthony so needed each other. Part of her knew from the moment it was over they had just made a baby.

"Yes, I think I do," she said quietly.

"First pregnancies are delicate. Be kind to yourself and get plenty of rest. No more accompanying Sir Strallan to the farms."

"Thank you, Dr. Clarkson. I trust you'll keep this just between us? I don't wish to distract from Sybil."

"Of course, Lady Edith. Congratulations."

Edith stared at Isobel, and Isobel stared at Edith. There was a certain understanding between them now, as though Edith had joined some rank of womanhood she didn't know existed until just now. "Do you think it's something in the water?" the older woman joked blithely, appreciating Edith's current state of emotions.

Edith laughed lightly. She thought of Anthony, standing downstairs with the rest of the men, an unwitting father. She thought of their child, and Sybil's children. A very clear picture formed, of a whole mob of little ones running through the gardens together, playing games and picking flowers as she used to with her cousins.

The Strallans and the Crawleys and the Bransons would all grow up together, as friends; under the watchful eyes of their mothers and the unqualified love of their grandparents, and the protection of their proud fathers.

Edith felt so different, so filled with love and purpose, she could barely contain herself. When she rejoined the gentlemen in the library she barely felt the ground beneath her feet. Wondering if it showed, she smiled at Anthony, who kissed her temple and rubbed her back.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked quietly, catching her contagious grin as he scrutinized her face.

In an unusual display in the presence of her family, Edith kissed Anthony squarely on the mouth. Surprised at first, he eventually kissed her back, having learned not to question such happy wonders from the woman he adored. In that one moment everything was perfect. Every aspect of Edith's world settled into a peaceful symmetry, as though each cog had just finally clicked into place.

And then, as life is wont to do, that moment passed and everything changed.

Edith and Mary were on either side of Sybil, each holding one of her white, clammy hands in theirs. "Why is there so much blood?" Mary asked frantically. Her great brown eyes were wide in fear, and they found Edith's with a certain desperation.

"Lady Sybil, the baby is moving down," Clarkson's voice boomed. "With your next contraction I need you to give me small, short pushes."

Sybil, white as chalk and drenched in sweat, was trying to breathe deeply. "You're doing very well," Edith muttered, unable to hide her fear. There was a heavy tension in the room that bore down on all of them. Though no one was addressing it, everyone knew something was dangerously wrong.

Cora stood down by Dr. Clarkson. The only thing Edith saw in her face was calm determination. "Sybil, look at me. Focus on me, baby," Cora said. Her voice was soothing and maternal. She seemed to be the only one able to keep herself composed for the sake of her frail and exhausted daughter. Sybil nodded and stared her Mama in the eyes and pushed as Clarkson had instructed.

When the contraction passed she fell back against the pillows, weak and breathless. "Oh God, something's wrong. It wasn't like this before," she panicked, her voice cracking painfully. Then looking to Edith she said through tears, "I know it. A mother knows. Oh God, oh god," and broke into sobs.

Edith and Mary made tearful eye contact, neither knowing what to say. Cora moved quickly, leaning with one leg on the bed and placing a hand on Sybil's knee. "Sybil, breathe and stay calm. You will be alright. Think of this baby."

Sybil nodded and followed as Cora demonstrated slow, steady inhales and exhales. Edith watched her Mama in absolute awe. She'd never seen this in her, never once seen her take charge of a situation or stay so imperturbable in a crisis. But somehow Edith understood it; a strength that was greater than oneself, that came from some indeterminable place when it was truly necessary. It came from being a mother.

Carrying Mr. Pamuk's corpse to the bachelor's corridor, sending Sybil the money to return home against Papa's will, fighting the Spanish fever and suffering a miscarriage, and never once reacting to years Granny's disapproving remarks—Lady Cora Crawley was a remarkable woman. Edith had never realized it until this very moment. Her fear and anguish and confusion all eased slightly, comforted as she was by her Mama's steady gaze and soothing murmurs.

For the first time in her life Edith was deeply proud of her mother, and in a fleeting but powerful thought, hoped to God she had even a fraction of that strength in herself.

The sounds of the baby crying should have been a lovely, encompassing relief. The nurse carried the babe off to clean it up as Sybil asked for it weakly, and for an instant it seemed as though everything would be alright. Mary even managed a gladdened smile as Sybil collapsed back onto the pillows, the strain finally over.

But great masses of dark blood began to spill onto the sheets, and Sybil's grip went limp in her sisters' hands.

"Her uterus isn't clamping," Clarkson growled to no one but himself. He tried everything he knew to do, down the most rudimentary treatments. The baby was still wailing across the room, Cora was pleading with her daughter to hold on, and then to come back.

And then a hush fell upon them all. Sybil was still, her mouth hung open, the color wholly drained from her. Edith began to shake as Cora finally lost her composure, crawling onto the bed to hold her youngest daughter's wilted frame. Mary backed away slowly, shaking her head. Even the baby, now cleaned and swaddled, seemed to recognize the loss. It was silent in the nurse's arms.

"Please no. Please, please no," Cora started whispering over and over, holding Sybil's head to her breast.

Edith looked to Clarkson. He had blood up to his elbows and soaking his tweed waistcoat and pants. His eyes were downcast, but Edith could see that he was crying. The man had brought Sybil into the world twenty-four years ago, and he had just seen her leave it.

"Someone has to tell Tom," Cora stated after what seemed an eternity. Her voice sounded guttural and inhuman. Edith hardly recognized it. She looked to Mary first, always the cool, calm one, but Mary shook her head and shrank away into the nearby chair.

Edith seemed to move without making a conscious decision to do so. She took the baby silently from the nurse, who muttered, "It's a girl," before she walked stiffly out the door.

For the second time that night, Edith could not feel the floor below her as she descended the grand stairwell and moved toward the library. The aching in her chest was not from joy, however, and the news she bore was not happy, nor could it wait. How she hated being the messenger, and she so longed to close her eyes and wake from what surely could not be real.

Edith paused before the library door and looked down at the baby. She was small, and round, with pink cheeks and full, red lips. A little worse-for-wear, perhaps, but her entry into the world had not been a smooth one. Wondering what her life will be like, growing up without her mother, Edith leaned down on kissed her forehead softly, blessing her that she may know how Sybil loved her.

There was an initial outcry of gaiety when Edith stepped into the library, the little bundle in her arms. Tom's face stretched into a grin as Matthew patted his back, and it broke Edith's heart all over again.

"What is it? How's Sybil? Is it a boy?"

The Crawleys were full of questions, happy questions—normal questions. Only Anthony seemed to sense right away that something was horribly wrong. Edith's face was absolutely calm until she met her husband's eyes and an immediate understanding passed between them. As she started to crumble Anthony said firmly, "Isobel, take the baby."

Tom's face fell into confusion, as did everyone else's, as Isobel quickly took the infant from Edith's shaking arms.

"No," Tom muttered, almost with a laugh, "No, Sybil wouldn't do that. She wouldn't leave Madeline and me like that." Edith couldn't look at him. "No," he said once more, tearing out of the room and, presumably, upstairs.

Matthew and Robert followed after him. Isobel, instinctively bobbing the baby, looked outright stricken. When her eyes met Edith's an unspoken acknowledgement passed between them. They both knew something about Edith, something that had been unmitigated good news just hours ago, and was now… Edith couldn't process it.

Edith registered Anthony's grip around her, strong enough to hold her up despite it being one-armed. She looked up at her husband. His face seemed to say _I'm sorry_ and _I'm here _at once.

"Anthony," she muttered. He pulled her to the couch, into his lap, and rocked her gently as he pulled her tight against him. And for the first time in a very long time, Edith collapsed into tremendous, uncontrollable sobs.

* * *

"Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality." ~Emily Dickinson

Such is the ebb and flow of life. Without loss we may never know what we have. I felt it was necessary, but I am sorry! Happy times will come again, I promise. Life always carries on and so will the Crawleys and the Strallans.

Much love, and thank you so kindly for your reviews. They're greatly appreciated...


	19. Small Wonders

Edith was in the kitchen at Locksley. Anna was beside her, holding her hand, and Mrs. Bass was across from her, filling three cups with hot, fresh tea. The rest of the staff was out tending to their work or taking their half-day, and Edith was deeply grateful for the privacy.

"It was a lovely service," Anna said softly. "Everyone that ever knew Lady Sybil seemed to attend. She touched a lot of lives."

"Sybil was the best of us, that is certain," Edith agreed numbly.

"I keep thinking about those babies," Mrs. Bass sighed, shaking her head sadly. "But you know, they'll be alright. Got lots of love around 'em they do, and they won't ever want for it."

Edith looked up at the older woman. Mrs. Bass had large, calloused hands—a cook's hands—and they wrapped themselves around the heavy ceramic mug she preferred to drink from. She had small, gray eyes that sank into a ruddy, pockmarked face. She was a broad, square woman, totally lacking in physical grace. Edith, in a way, fell in love with her all over again just then.

Typical of Lady Edith, middle daughter of the Earl of Grantham, to choose such unlikely companions. But companions they were nonetheless, and good ones too. It felt like the three of them were back in that townhouse in London, easing each other's loneliness and sharing confidences.

Only Edith was not alone, not by a long mile. Anthony was out, escorting Granny home at Papa's behest, but he'd return to her shortly. And soon they would be three. Suddenly Edith was crying again.

"Oh, it's not so bad as all that, deary," Mrs. Bass whispered, pulling her chair around so she might take the tiny Lady Strallan to her great bosom and give her a proper hug.

"Lady Sybil wouldn't want you suffering for her like this," Anna suggested.

"I know. I know she wouldn't. It's just, I'm not only crying for her. I am, I mean I miss her so desperately. But I'm crying for those girls, and for Tom, and for Anthony."

"Sir Strallan? Whatever for?" Mrs. Bass asked, releasing her grip on Edith's shoulders.

When she sat up Edith's face said it all, but she told them anyway. "We're going to have a baby."

Anna and Mrs. Bass seemed to know better than to congratulate her in that moment, though they also knew how badly she'd been hoping for this very thing.

"Anthony doesn't know. And how am I supposed to tell him now, after this? Was I so naïve to think we'd gone through enough? It never occurred to me that something like this would ever happen. Not to our family. And how am I supposed to tell my parents, and Mary, and Tom? Oh lord, when I think of Tom," Edith began, but she lost her voice to another bout of crying.

Mrs. Bass hushed Edith and rubbed her back until she'd calmed down again.

"I know how Anthony will worry. And I know how awful it will be to be happy about this now, when we're all in mourning. And I'm terrified. I wasn't before, it never occurred to me before to be so scared. Oh, I'm just a mess," she blubbered, burying her face in her handkerchief.

After a long while Mrs. Bass said quietly, "You know, sometimes things happen in a certain sequence like. Life has a funny way of timing things to get us by. Just think. If you'd have married Sir Anthony that first time, well you wouldn't be quite so appreciative of him now, would you? And maybe what happened to that poor, young sister of yours was going to happen no matter what, but you having this baby's just nature's way of easing the pain for your family."

"And nothing, nothing, should get in the way of you being happy about it," Anna added firmly. "Nothing can take that away from you. Loving this baby and Sir Anthony, it doesn't mean you miss Lady Sybil any less."

Edith's sobs abated slightly as she allowed her friends' words to comfort her.

"Loving this baby isn't going to be a problem," Mrs. Bass said confidently to Anna, straightening Edith's hair and standing from the table. "I've seen the way this girl loves. She's got room enough in that great heart of hers for a dozen babies. Maybe more." Edith looked up, giving Mrs. Bass a sad but grateful smile, so the tough cook continued. "And, knowing what I know about how she and the Master get on, she may need room in her for twelve babies anyway."

Edith flinched and blushed furiously before she and Anna burst into laughter.

"There ya are, deary. Laughter's the best medicine they say. Everything will look better after a good laugh," Mrs. Bass assured, topping off their cups before shuffling over to the great butcher-block counter. "Now, if you're all done wearing a mark in that seat, why don't you come help me with the treacle tarts, hmm? Have I shown you those yet?"

"No," Edith sighed, feeling immensely better already. "You haven't. But I'd very much like to learn."

Edith had taken off her necklace and bracelets, and the barrettes in her hair, and even kicked her shoes off after a while. She was sifting powdered sugar over a cooled pumpkin cake when Anthony came into the kitchen, hat in hand, still wearing his overcoat. When she looked over at him he saw that some of the color had returned to her cheeks. She was all alone, and the house seemed inordinately quiet.

"Where have Anna and Mrs. Bass gone?" he asked softly.

"We made treacle tart, and then some turnovers, and then a cake. She and Anna took a basket up to the servants at Downton. They're just as sad about Sybil but they have to tend to the family. We thought it would make a nice treat."

"You're wonderful," Anthony sighed, throwing his hat and gloves onto the table by Edith's things. He approached her slowly, tentatively, worried about her. Her back was to him as she stood in her stalking feet, now picking sprigs of mint as garnish.

"You don't mind that I mingle in the kitchens, that my only friends aside from you are the staff?"

"Not in the slightest," he whispered, wrapping his arm around her little frame as he hugged her from behind.

"And you don't mind that I can't pick out linens or host a party, but I can bake a cake and mend a button?"

"I hate parties, but I'm forever losing buttons. The only problem I see with the cakes is that I seem to be filling out rather in the middle."

Edith twisted in his grip, turning so she might face him. "It really doesn't bother you that I'm hopeless as a wife and in running the household details, and that I'll always prefer walking barefoot in the gardens to decorating a room?"

"My darling, dearest girl. You may not enjoy the things most of the women in your position might do, but there is a reason I am not married to any of those women. I love that you would rather get your hands dirty, so to speak. You are the most wonderful kind of wife, because you are real, and brilliant, and because you are indeed my wife and no one else's."

Edith slipped her hands under his jacket and sling, locking them behind his back, and laid her head against his chest. Anthony rested a cheek against her temple and closed his eyes.

"Regardless of what you do, or have done, I will never feel anything but immense pride for you. I hope you know that. If ever there was a chance of me taking us for granted Tom and Sybil have ensured it's gone now. I will never for one minute forget how I love you. So whatever you want to do, writing or baking—you could decide to wear trousers and change your name to Bernard for all I care—I will treasure it. Alright?"

Anthony's voice had always mesmerized Edith. From the first time they met she was terribly fond of it. The pitch grew lofty when he was nervous, and bold when he was enthused, and dry when he was sad. But when Anthony was being sincere and tender, his voice became deep and sonorous and masculine, low but urgent and passionate. Lord how she loved the sound of it, the feel of his breath against her hair and her ear. The simple wonder of being allowed to lean up just so and touch her lips to his square jaw, to feel the smooth surface of his cheek against her nose and smell his skin, never ceased to amaze her.

He was right, of course. She would never take the fact of him, of Sir Anthony Strallan her husband, for granted. "I love you, Strallan," she whispered against his lips, brushing against them like feathers as she formed the words.

All of their sorrow, their worry, the tragedy they were enduring, it all seemed manageable when they kissed. Anthony tasted Edith's bottom lip, and moved against her pleasantly but with authority and ownership, making Edith's stomach tighten and her body shudder. His hand was just low enough on her back to be a place no one but her husband had touched her, and she thrilled in the simple intimacy.

It was almost incomprehensible that she, by some strange and astonishing circumstance, was allowed to run her hands along the muscles of his back and press against the length of his legs, to open her mouth against his—and to bear his child.

"Oh, my," she muttered, turning her head away to catch her breath.

"I'm sorry, I know it's been a terrible day, the timing is all wrong," he said preemptively, guilt shading his eyes. Edith, breathless and trembling, clamped a hand over his mouth to silence him.

"Don't ever apologize for kissing me like that. You can kiss me like that every minute of every day for the rest of my life if you wish, and I'll never turn you away. However," she qualified, leaning against the counter so she could get a better look at him. "I wanted to tell you something."

"Ah," he nodded, stepping back several paces to sit in one of the chairs. "I've been wondering when you were going to get around to it."

"What?"

"Whatever's been on your mind, dearest. I saw it before that awful night; something's been churning in that beautiful head of yours for weeks. Now, are you finally going to let me in on whatever's been troubling you?"

"Is there any point at all to my trying to keep a thing from you?" Edith asked, trying not to smile so she might look stern.

"I don't believe so, no."

"Answer me this," she demanded, "Do you trust me?"

Her brown eyes bore into his, and he looked momentarily nonplussed before responding definitely, "Yes, of course."

Edith nodded, clasped her hands together in an unconscious prayer-like gesture, and took a deep breath in preparation. Then, with a tiny, irrepressible smile, she said, "Anthony, you're going to be a father."

* * *

What _will_ he say? :) Perhaps their good news will be just the thing to piece the Crawley family together again after such an irreparable loss...

Thank you sincerely, always, for continuing to read and review. I hope you enjoy!


	20. Exceptional

A/N: Tomorrow Edith and Anthony face the world, but for now they have each other, and what more could two people so well-matched want? :)

(I'm giving a fluff-alert for this installment, as well as a heads up it may be slightly more than 'T' later. I sincerely hope those parts are handled with dignity and delicacy, but I thought I would give fair warning nonetheless.)

Thank you so much for continuing to read and review. I hope you enjoy it even a fraction of how I've loved writing it...

* * *

All of time slowed for just a moment. The rain, which had been falling lazily all day, seemed suddenly louder in the courtyard outside the kitchen windows, and the wind clamored noisily against the stove vents. Edith held her breath, watching and waiting for Anthony's reaction.

The timing, as he had said himself just a few moments ago, was less than ideal. Sybil's funeral had not finished six hours ago, and here Edith stood, asking her husband to rejoice in the very thing that had caused her dear sister's death. And, despite her grief and trepidations, Edith was indeed rejoicing.

"You're pregnant?" he finally asked, turning his great, blue eyes on Edith. She saw the tears behind his lashes, but couldn't yet tell which emotion they portrayed. His voice was rather numb, his posture stiff.

"Yes. Dr. Clarkson confirmed it. It's not very far along, but it is definite."

Anthony's eyes scanned the room without really seeing it, and Edith's heart began to pound. She so needed him to be glad, and brave. But his face was frozen in that one lopsided smile of his that doesn't necessarily indicate happiness. She saw it when he proposed the first time, and that day in the church, and nearly anytime Granny said something awkward. It told her nothing now.

Just when Edith thought she couldn't take another moment, Anthony took a stuttering breath, as though he had just come up from water. To Edith's surprise he began to laugh; not heartily, or loudly, but he was laughing. When he didn't speak Edith stomped her foot impatiently and dropped her hands.

"Well are you going to say anything?"

"I don't think there are words, dearest," he replied. His smile grew, stretching wide and setting Edith immediately at ease.

"You're pleased," she sighed. It wasn't a question, but a statement with immense implication, a release of all her fears and trepidation.

"Pleased? I am so delighted I could sing with it."

Before she knew what was happening, Edith collapsed into sobs. She found herself sinking to her knees on the slate floor, one hand over her mouth as she gasped for air, tears streaming down her face. Anthony was kneeling before her in an instant, holding her chin in his hand.

"What's this?" he asked, not overly concerned. He recognized the relief in her face.

"It seems my legs have failed me, momentarily. I'll be alright," she stammered, laughing almost as hard as she was crying.

"Yes," he said pointedly, in one of those rarely authoritative moments. "You will be. You will be fine, and the baby will be fine. We're none of us going anywhere."

"I thought you might, given what happened, be unhappy—"

"I know I'm prone to worry, but Edith, we made a child. Come what may, I could never find despair in that."

Edith pitched her arms hard around Anthony's neck, burying her face against his shoulder.

"In this moment, more than ever, I wish I had both my arms to hold you to me."

"Well hold me twice as long with the one you've got and we'll make do."

And he did. Together, on the floor of their deserted kitchen, the Strallans laughed, and cried, and laughed again, and when they collected themselves enough to move into the library, they were no longer Lady Edith and Sir Anthony, but the Strallan family.

Edwards was in the great hall with the two footmen, overseeing the rotating of the rugs. When his Master and Mistress entered from the back stair, he wasn't greatly surprised to find the Lady clinging to Sir Strallan's arm. Nor could he really say he was surprised to see her pull him to a stop in front of the stairs and say something in hushed tones.

"Anthony," Edith said, stopping short of the door to the library. Anthony turned back to her, a certain giddy lightness brightening his features. Edith's eyes caught the old butler's, who immediately looked away. "It's been rather a long day. Might we go upstairs and take have a lie down?"

"Of course," he said simply. Turning to his Butler Anthony said, "Edwards, it's been a rather trying day. Please tell Mrs. Bass not to bother with dinner. Lady Edith and I are going to have a rest, and we may not be back down." He gave Edith's hand a kiss before leading her up the stairs.

"Very good, Sir," Edwards muttered, bidding them a good night. He seemed sympathetic to their mourning, and saw nothing of the elation they were both drunk with.

When they reached the landing and were away from view, Edith stopped again. She took a few of the steps so she might be closer to eye-level with Anthony and turned to face him. They were still holding hands, and Anthony's thumb drew affectionate circles in her palm as he waited.

"Anthony," she hedged, feeling slightly awkward. They'd been married for four months, and were as acquainted with each other as most couples who had been married four decades. But somehow, in this moment, she was unsure how to tell him what she wanted. The way he was looking at her now, patiently and adoringly, didn't seem to be helping. She began to fuss with the lapel of his suit. "I don't really want to take a nap."

When he spoke his voice was sure and rather humorous, as though she had underestimated him. "Edith, sweetheart, I'm half a century old. I know how this works."

She smiled at him, and was saying, "I suppose I should know better" when he cocked his head in a curious way. Edith watched him, hesitantly, trying to guess what was on his mind.

In an unusual but most welcome display of unrestraint and command, Anthony took a swift step into Edith, throwing her over his left shoulder as though she weighed nothing, causing her to let out a little shriek. He said nothing as he marched them down the hall, and Edith was left quite speechless herself.

It took them almost no time to get each other undressed. The room was cold, as the evening fires had yet to be lit, and their only light was the fading, steely glare from the October sky. They were quick to seek the shelter of the thick bed linens. But once they found each other under the sheets, neither party seemed to hurry things.

There were times when their encounters were fiery and zealous; when Edith saw a side to Anthony she believed no one else in the world ever had, when his eyes grew darker and his movements were fiercer and his presence was altogether more forceful. There were other times when they were gentle, and quiet, and their hands always managed to find each other in the midst of things and their movements were deliberate and demonstrative.

And then there were times such as this, which were not uncommon but tempered just enough with the others to make them special, when they would find themselves beyond words, transcendent of need, and in utter awe of one another.

Anthony's hand slowly trailed every beloved curve of Edith's supple frame—almost painfully slowly—as she lay on her side next to him. She watched his face while he explored, keenly interested in the concentration and ardor that he expressed. His eyelashes, though light, were incredibly long, and she admired them from a viewpoint most did not have the privilege of knowing as he kissed her collarbone, and her breast, and her ribs. Her own hands rested on his head and his shoulder. She loved the feel of his broad muscles and of his hair in her fingers, and the smell of his skin.

Unable to wait any longer, she pulled him gently back to her so she might kiss him. Anthony was far more patient than his wife in nearly every aspect of their lives, but especially when they were lying close together. He smiled against her mouth as she urged his open and slid her tongue somewhat forcibly underneath his upper lip.

"What's so amusing?" she muttered petulantly, leaving his mouth free to answer and nibbling slightly on the space between his jaw and ear.

"Your enthusiasm, darling."

"Does it bother you?" she challenged, bracing herself on his shoulders as she moved to hover over him.

"On the contrary, my lovely, it does my old heart well."

Edith pulled Anthony up so he was sitting beneath her and took both his hands in hers, holding them between their heaving chests. They examined each other's eyes for a long while before she spoke.

"I grant I have a biased view, but do you think it's just possible we love each other more than any two people ever have, or ever could? I ask you because, as you've said, you're half a century old. Surely you, Methuselah, will know better than I."

"My opinion is subjective as yours, I'm afraid. And to be honest, my thoughts are just a bit beleaguered at the moment." He glanced down briefly, but pointedly, at their bodies and she arched against him in agreement. "But yes, Edith, I think we may be exceptional in that way. Very exceptional indeed."

They spent the next several hours proving exactly how exceptional they found each other to be.

The sun had long-since left the great paneled windows of their room, but Anthony had lit the fire and a tray with some bread and tea had been brought up. Edith sat in bed, sheets gathered around her, sipping from her cup. Aware that Anthony was watching her she finally turned to him, blushing. "What on earth are you staring at?"

He was sitting opposite her, feet crossed, leaning against one of the posts at the foot of the bed, wearing only his navy pajama pants.

"You. What else?"

"Why?"

"Because I can't stop thinking that my child is in there, our child, and I'm rather astonished by it. I'm sort of proud of us. Aren't you proud?"

"Anthony," she muttered, tears welling at his sincere and direct response. He simply shrugged, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, but she knew somehow that he was remarkable, and she was incredibly lucky to have him; even more that she was lucky to have children with him. "Exceptional, indeed," she repeated as they sat, beaming at each other and sipping their tea.


	21. Natural

"You're staring again. If you keep it up, they'll all grow suspicious," Edith warned. She was not looking at Anthony, but could feel his affectionate gaze upon her. Edith was trying to be playful, but she was feeling rather woozy this morning. As the car bounced on a particularly deep pothole, she let out an involuntary "oomph" and had to take a deep, steadying breath.

"Fond as I am of you, I was actually trying to determine just how gray your face would turn before you told me the truth about how you're feeling." Anthony was also trying to keep his tone light, trying not to worry too much over his wife.

"I'm fine, darling. Please don't let it bother you," she said, reaching for his hand. When she caught his worried expression she sighed. "Do I look that terrible? I can't bear to tell them now, today of all days."

They were almost to the church where the new baby's christening was to be held—a Catholic church, which did not please Granny or Papa. Tom had decided to name her Sybil, and that didn't help matters. Only a week since Sybil's funeral, with the family divided on nearly everything Branson-related, and the squabbles about the management and between Matthew and Mary about children, well it was certainly not the day to make an announcement of any kind.

"You don't look at all terrible," Anthony said. Though he knew she wasn't fishing, he added, "You're radiant, in fact. Only I happen to care more about how you're feeling."

"I'm tired. And I seem to have lost my appetite. Otherwise, I'm perfectly happy and quite looking forward to doing something with the family other than mourning. Does that sound insensitive?"

"I didn't know Lady Sybil very well, I grant you, but from what I do know, and from what I know about grief, there is little point in sitting around in bereavement, and I'm certain that's not what she'd want for all of you." He leaned in to kiss her clammy forehead and subtly placed his hand over her flat stomach. "Especially in light of certain happy news, hmm?"

Edith leaned into her husband, closing her eyes against the waves of nausea that were rolling through her. She'd experienced little of this at first, but the last week had been more difficult and this morning was the worst yet.

Anthony wanted to comfort her, but Edith was reluctant to complain. For one thing, she was getting everything she wanted and it felt wrong to begrudge her condition. For another, she knew they were looking at approximately seven months of changes and surprises and she couldn't bear to let Anthony worry more than he already would.

Anthony seemed to read her thoughts. In his most soothing voice he said, "Edith, I know you don't want to burden me, and I know how emphatically strong you are. But darling, I'm your husband, and I know you. You don't have to suffer alone, and you certainly don't need to spare me. Let me help you, please."

Edith, who had been more emotional than usual lately, began to cry. "Oh, you're helping just by holding me. I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"Don't ever be sorry for this. You're not a mess, you are the mother of my child. Anyway, we do it together, remember?"

"We do it together," she repeated, pulling tighter against him. Anthony wiped the tears from her face and stroked her jaw delicately.

When she seemed more peaceful he added, "Except of course the actual carrying of the child, and the labor, and all those gruesome things. For those I'm afraid you are on your own, old girl." Edith couldn't help but laugh. She gave his ribs a poke, and Anthony replied teasingly, "Ouch. Do you think your temper might be one of the many genetic gifts our child will inherit?"

The Strallans were the last to arrive at the church. It was a small gathering, and Granny's lips were pursed tightly together the entire time. As they stood for the blessing, Anthony's hand rested protectively on Edith's lower back. A small sun break drifted through the stain glass windows of the little stone chapel in blue and yellow and green beams. As Edith's hands rested reverently in front of her, she couldn't help but hold them against her stomach. Nothing was there, of course, but soon enough there would be the telltale evidence.

Edith looked up at Anthony as his clear blue eyes followed the ceremony and that gentle, crooked smile rested on his face. She was so filled with love for him in that moment. And of something else too; the sudden and intrinsic realization that Sybil was giving them her blessing in her own way. Edith slipped her left hand into Anthony's sling, lacing her fingers through his, as her right wrapped around his back.

"Hello, sweet one," he whispered to her. "Feeling better?"

"Immensely," she responded as the others all muttered, "Amen."

"Gentlemen, no business, please. It's not the day for it," Cora pleaded firmly. Matthew and Robert looked less than pleased to be stifled, but obliged anyway. They separated, tightlipped and tense, and joined the others on the sofas. Edith was sipping her tea gingerly, afraid to over-burden her somewhat temperamental stomach, and watching Anthony. He was quite relaxed, and he always treated Tom with the same respect he'd treat any titled man. She was practically glowing with pride and sentimentality when he caught her staring and winked at her.

"Really, Edith, might you spare us your swooning?" Granny asked. Edith looked down at her lap immediately.

"Jealous, Gran?" Mary asked sourly.

"Mary," Cora hissed, "Let's not spoil the afternoon."

"Especially not on my behalf," Edith said, half accusing her mother.

"Oh, now surely you're not still playing that card," Granny began but Anthony shocked everyone into silence by stepping forward.

"Actually, Cora, I don't wish to go against your wishes, but I wonder if I might have a word with Robert and Matthew, please? I've had an idea that might be of some interest regarding the issue of Jarvis' giving notice and whatnot. It won't take but a minute, I assure you."

The whole room balked at him except for Edith, who expected nothing less from her dear, unassuming Anthony.

"Well, I suppose. Of course, Anthony, by all means," Cora stuttered.

"And Tom, of course, if you'd like to join us," he added, not wishing to leave him out.

Tom glanced to Robert and said quickly, "Actually, if you all don't mind, I think I'd like to check on the girls."

"Just all of you, be back in time for luncheon, please," Cora agreed.

As the men left, Lady Violet turned to Edith. "Who was that and what has he done with your docile, stuttering Sir Anthony?" Edith shrugged, suddenly impervious to any jibes. "Don't mistake me, my dear. I'm quite impressed."

"Yes, remarkable feat to stop you when you're on a roll, no?" Mary asked.

"Quite, Mary, thank you. Only don't look so pleased with yourself. He silenced you just as effectively."

"How is the nurse getting on?" Edith asked Cora, not wishing to encourage the little quarrel.

"Oh quite well, I think. Though Tom seems less willing to let her help him."

"He wants to be with his daughters. Can't blame him for that," Edith said.

"Yes, well, hands-on parenting is more natural to his class," Violet agreed. Mary rolled her eyes and willed herself to shut up by getting more tea.

At luncheon Granny's mood did not improve. "Tom take over for Jarvis?" she asked incredulously.

"Of course, it's the perfect solution. Anthony's idea," Matthew said jovially. Turning to Edith he added, "My brother-in-law is a genius."

"You want me to work for you?" Tom asked quietly.

"Well we need someone with farming experience, whom we trust, to manage things now that Jarvis has left, and seeing as how your pride won't allow you to just live here, I think it's a damn good compromise. I don't really want my granddaughters growing up in Liverpool and seeing as how Ireland's out, I ask that you do consider it."

"Tom, I didn't know you had experience with farming," Cora said warmly, trying to contain her excitement at the prospect.

"Yes, I was telling Anthony—Sir Anthony," he corrected.

"Anthony," the dear man on the other side of Edith interjected.

"Anthony. I was just saying that I grew up on a sheep farm."

"Sheep, which is exactly the kind of experience we need, as well as the lay of the land, which Tom will know from driving it so many years," Matthew said enthusiastically. He didn't realize he'd just referenced the unmentionable past as Branson the Chauffeur.

"That is," Anthony said immediately, preventing Granny from winding up, "If it suits Tom."

"Well will we be allowed to call him Branson again?" Lady Violet asked curtly.

"No decisions need be made tonight," Robert declared, changing the subject. Tom looked down into his soup bowl, though Edith couldn't tell whether it was in contemplation or embarrassment.

Cora managed to change the conversation to less sensitive and provocative subjects, and the rest of the meal passed without incident. When Cora suggested the ladies adjourn to the drawing room, Edith spoke up.

"Actually, I was wondering if I might go pop in on Madeline and the baby. I haven't seen much of them and they are my nieces, after all. I don't live with them like the rest of you do."

"I'll take you up," Tom offered. No one would accuse him of being anything less than adoring and devoted when it came to his girls.

"Mind if I join?" Anthony questioned, earning the surprised stare of everyone in the room except his wife.

"Of course," Tom said, rising from the table and nodding to the rest as he went.

Up in the nursery Edith sat in the window seat, cradling the well-bundled newborn in her arms while Anthony hovered over her, smiling. Madeline was taking a nap, but the baby was quite alert, her great eyes staring right up at Edith. "Oh Tom, she's so beautiful, and so like Sybil."

"Both my daughters look just like their mother. I can't tell yet if it's a gift or curse. It almost hurts just to look at Madeline when she smiles."

"Is there anything we can do to help, Tom?" Anthony asked reverently.

"My wife is dead. I'm beyond help," he muttered, staring past them through the window. Realizing how ungrateful he sounded, he immediately turned to Anthony. "Oh I'm sorry. I know how kind you've been, and I'm very thankful."

"Won't you take the job?" Edith implored.

"I don't know, to be honest with you. I appreciate what an offer it is, but I don't know if I can live here, on your father's land. It goes against every political principle I've held."

"But think of the good you could do, with the farmers and the villagers. And please, please don't take my nieces so far away."

Edith looked to Anthony then, silently asking his approval. He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. He just smiled and briefly hooked a finger under her chin.

"Tom," she said, standing and rocking the baby lightly. "I don't want you to think I'm trying to sway you one way or another… Actually, that's exactly what I'm trying to do. Please, know that I like you very much, and so does Mary and Matthew and Mama. We're all terribly fond of you, and support you in whatever you do. Papa is stubborn, but he'll come around. You'll see."

"Lady Edith," he began but she shook her head.

"No, that's not all. Anthony and I are going to have a baby. And I can't bear the thought of our child not knowing yours. I've always imagined the Bransons and the Strallans running mad through the gardens and the halls together. Can't you just picture it? Please, think about it before you decide."

"You're having a baby?" he asked breathlessly.

"I am. And I'm sorry, I know the timing is terrible, but I just," she apologized.

"No, it's not terrible at all. Sybil would've been so, so pleased, I know. She always talked about cousins for the girls. Playmates."

An awkward and emotional minute passed, all three of them staring down at Baby Sybil and all three filled with hope and expectation and loss.

"I'll think about it," Tom finally said. "But I can't make any promises."

"I am glad, old chap," Anthony said sincerely. It hadn't occurred to Edith until that moment that Tom was probably the only person in the family who had never dismissed Anthony as dull or dry, and that they might have the potential to be great friends.

Tom nodded and asked, "I'm assuming you're waiting to tell the rest of them?"

"As long as humanly possible," Edith replied quickly.

He nodded once and said, "Sybil waited. She was five months gone at your wedding." But tears suddenly welled in his eyes and he excused himself immediately.

When Edith looked up at Anthony she was on the verge of crying, but he just shushed her.

"I told you, darling, we're none of us going anywhere."

"Alright," she said firmly, shaking away her doubts.

"Now, let me see about this baby business," he said brightly, sitting in the window seat and locking his left arm in position. Edith was surprised, but all too eager to oblige, placing Sybil in his arm gingerly. The little bundle looked even smaller in his great hand.

Anthony smiled at the little face and bounced her easily as Edith stood above them, completely overjoyed.

"Look at that, my love," he said with a wide and boyish grin, "I'm a natural."

* * *

The sun may just be shining once again on the Crawley clan. :) Will Tom let go some of his pride and keep the family in tact?

(I borrowed a couple lines from the latest episode that were just too priceless to pass up. Also, I'm trying to weave some of the 'real' DA in so it's easier to watch the new episodes. Because they are BRUTAL. :)

Thank you so, so much for continuing to read and review. I am loving this.


	22. Mother

"There's no questioning it now," Anthony laughed, coming up to Edith from behind as she cinched her dressing gown over the small but definite protrusion that seemingly appeared overnight.

"I suppose not," she smiled, watching in the mirror before them as her husband leaned against her back and laced his hand around her middle.

"And how are you feeling this morning, Lady Strallan?"

"Too large for my clothes, and mildly exhausted, and incandescently happy. You?"

"Oh let's see, too large for my clothes, for which I blame your recent baking streak, and mildly exhausted, also your fault for being so irresistible at night, and occasionally in the mornings. And, yes, incandescently happy."

"Is that my fault too?"

"No doubt, my dearest," he mumbled, nibbling lightly on her neck. Edith felt the familiar but never unwelcome tingle down her spine.

"If you keep doing that I'm never going to make it to Anna's, and I promised I'd be there by ten."

"Will you have Samson drive you? There's not much snow, but enough to make me worry."

"Aren't you supposed to be doing something with Papa and the boys later?" she asked.

It had become a sort of convention to refer to her brothers-in-law as 'the boys,' especially since all four of them were slowly forming a sort of club. Robert recognized a kindred spirit in Anthony, though he'd never before given it a chance, and Anthony had proven in various ways to be invaluable to each of them.

"Yes, terribly exciting. We're going to investigate some possibly compromised fencing down on one of Robert's older properties and then we're going to see the new motorized reaper Joseph Potter just purchased."

"I sort of miss the days I bounced around the farms with you," she mused, leaning her head against his shoulder and reaching up to touch his cheek. He looked at her reflection in the mirror.

"I miss having you with me. But Dr. Clarkson said you should be resting and keeping still."

"I loathe keeping still. I'm just longing for an adventure."

"You're having a baby. The rest of our lives will be an ongoing adventure."

Edith smiled broadly, turning to face him. No matter how familiar she became with every inch of his person, she would never grow weary of or immune to the curve of his nose and the blue of his eyes and the shape of his thin lips. She kissed him, not in a chaste or entirely innocent manner, opening her mouth teasingly, just enough to pull on his lower lip.

"If you drop me off on your way to Papa's, we wouldn't have to leave for another hour at least," she suggested breathlessly. Anthony was already pulling at the sash on her robe and backing toward the day bed in her dressing room.

"I suppose I could live with that solution," he sighed sarcastically as Edith deftly slipped open the buttons of his cardigan and the shirt underneath.

"You're a brave and sacrificing man, Anthony Strallan."

"My burden in life, dearest," he managed before her mouth was on his again, forcing him to silence.

They were descending the main stair a while later when Anthony suddenly stopped and let go of Edith's hand.

"What is it?"

"I almost forgot," he muttered, reaching into the pocket of his overcoat to pull out a little box. It was wrapped in gold paper with a tiny red ribbon on it. He handed it Edith.

"Anthony, what's this?"

"Today is December First. Christmas presents," he answered jovially.

Edith winced. "Oh, Anthony. You don't need to make gestures."

"I know that. This isn't for you. It's for the baby."

To that Edith had no argument. She opened the little package as Anthony watched in anticipation. Delicately cushioned in tissue paper was a sweet, silver raddle with two lambs engraved on the handle.

"Anthony, it's beautiful," she muttered.

"It was mine, actually. It seemed appropriate."

Edith scoffed at him, reaching up to hug him tightly. "It's far more than appropriate," she whispered into his ear. "It's utterly lovely. You're lovely."

"I am rather, aren't I?" he asked, giving her bottom a light smack that drew a surprised little noise from her.

"Come my Edith, don't want to keep your father waiting," he said, continuing down the stairs. Edith followed, in awe of her dear husband. He had an undeniable lightness to him these days, a gentle ease in all he did and a relaxed, cheerful manner in general.

"You're happy, aren't you Anthony?" she wondered, slowly trailing after him.

Anthony, several steps ahead, turned to her in surprise. He looked puzzled momentarily, his face all lit from within, and said with a shrug, "Darling, I feel as though I could run the length of the continent and back with happiness. Can one die of it? Because each time I look at you I think I may just burst."

He said it so plainly, so matter-of-fact, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to be so incomprehensibly caring.

"You're a fool," she said, tears streaming down her face.

"Undoubtedly, my sweet one, but as the old adage goes, we are all fools in love."

"How true," she muttered, taking the hand he offered her and following him downstairs. "Incidentally, I am as well."

"A fool?"

"No, absolutely bursting with happiness."

"Is that what this is?" he joked, rubbing the belly that was hidden under her dress.

"Something like that," she sighed, tucking against her husband as they stepped into the brisk December morning.

"Well you have to tell them sometime soon," Anna said, setting Jack in his moses basket on the table between them "Your clothes aren't going to help for forever, you know."

Edith smiled and looked down at her stomach. The new fashions had allowed her to put off the announcement, but she was already fourteen weeks or so. It wouldn't wait much longer.

"I think perhaps at Christmas luncheon. Or right after. Everyone will be in the best sprit then, and feeling generous. What better time could there be really?"

"Why are you so afraid to tell your family? I should think they'd be glad for it, given what the past several months has been like. Mr. Bates says the whole house is still suffering and his Lordship has been a little down ever since Mr. Branson and the girls moved out to the Manager's cottage. Maybe this'll be just the thing."

Edith shrugged and looked over at the cozy kitchen fire. It was a small room, but very clean and neat, with a stone floor and walls and bright oak cabinets. Anna had displayed the china Edith had given her as a housewarming gift on the mantle and the window above the sink looked out onto the happy garden, now covered in a thin blanket of snow. It was a happy kitchen, because Anna was happy. Like Locksley, it felt like a home.

"Downton has never really felt like home to me," Edith muttered, following her train of thought. "I never belonged. I suppose, in a way I don't feel like sharing this with them yet. Not yet."

Anna sighed, dropping her head to one side and offering Edith a sympathetic smile. Both friends looked down as Jack, fat and cheerful, began babbling at them. Anna's face lit up as she put her knuckle in the baby's mouth to let him gnaw on it. "I don't believe he's cutting his first teeth already," she sighed. "He's just three months."

"How do you know he's teething?"

"Well, he's a bit fussy, which isn't like him, and he's got a mild fever, and he's drooling like mad, and his cheeks are all rosy."

"But how did you know that meant he was teething?"

"I don't know. I suppose I learned it from my mother."

And suddenly Edith was crying. "Oh Anna, I don't want to send my children off to a nurse. I want to know them and raise them, and I haven't ever had anyone show me how."

"Your mother loves you," Anna said forcefully.

"As all mothers must, I'm sure. But we always had nurses and governesses. I have no idea how to be a mother."

Anna stood, scooping little Jack out of his basket and planting a kiss on his forehead. Then she moved around the table and put him right into Edith's arms. Alarmed at first, Edith quickly relaxed, propping her elbow against her crossed legs and rocking instinctively.

"You see? I think you're going to be just fine," Anna declared, hands squarely on her hips in her usual, confident fashion. "What you don't know already, you learn. Where there's a willingness to learn, there's a way to learn it. And you have the added benefit, as I do, of having a kind and loving husband to help you. You worry too much, but then you always have done."

Edith looked up and laughed. "Funny, I say the same thing to Anthony."

"Nothing wrong with caring too much," Anna sighed wisely. "Nothing wrong with it at all."

Edith looked back to the baby wrapped in her long, pale arms, and at the little diamond ring on her hand, and thought of Anthony; the way his hand could bring such comfort, the way they managed to understand one another completely, with or without words, the peace and security she felt lying against him at night. In that moment she knew Anna was right.

Edith smiled serenely.

"I think," Anna said, scrutinizing Edith's expression with narrowed eyes, "Yup—you just officially became a mother."

"About bloody time," Edith responded wryly, failing to mask her deep gratification.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for continuing to read. It thrills me to no end that you're interested in my Edith and Anthony. I hope things are moving forward tolerably and that I'm doing your loyalty justice. :) I think the next chapter may just be Christmas day!

And as always, I so appreciate your reviews. They make my day!


	23. Christmas Morning

The Strallans' first Christmas together began exactly as Edith thought it should: with the two of them making love in the pre-morning light while snow fell silently over the rolling fields of Locksley.

They took their time, watching each other closely. The sun, still low in the East, was shrouded in clouds that filtered it in dulled golds and silvers down through their bedroom window. They relished in the brushing of fingertips and the taste of skin, enjoying a certain lack of urgency—as though time had slowed just for them, as though the waves of the oceans and the sway of the moon over the hills and the pulse of the earth all beat to the rhythm they two created between them. Then, wordless and replete, they laid together for a long and sober while, hands and arms locked, watching the dawn rise outside.

When the sun finally cleared the distant trees and made it day, they got into their nightclothes again. The morning fire had yet to heat the entire room comfortably, and they climbed back into bed to keep each other warm. Anthony was propped against the upholstered headboard while Edith rested against him, head lolling on his left shoulder.

They had both been largely silent when Edith suddenly flinched and uttered a little, "Oh," and then a more definite "Oh!"

Anthony tensed immediately. "What is it?"

Edith, by way of response, pulled his left hand from her hip to her belly. Through the thin layer of lilac satin, Anthony felt nothing more than the firm swelling he was getting familiar with. Curious and worried, his mind reeled at the possibilities of what could be paining his wife. And then the slightest bomp-bomp registered against his palm.

"Is that the baby?" he asked in disbelief.

"It certainly isn't last night's guinea fowl," she replied with a little giggle.

He marveled at her, a crooked, astonished smile on his face as they waited for it again

"Here," Edith said, "Try this." She sat up and turned, planting herself in his lap with her belly between them. He placed his hand back in the same spot eagerly, but nothing happened. With trembling fingers and a giddy anticipation, Edith quickly pulled his right hand against the other side of her stomach, and waited.

"Will it happen again?" Anthony asked. No sooner had the words escaped his lips then the little creature sent another bomp-bomp-bomp to its parents.

"She likes the sound of your voice," Edith whispered. Anthony glanced up at Edith, absolutely alit with pride, and then turned his attention back to her belly.

"Your mummy seems to think you're going to be a girl," he said softly, addressing the baby directly. Looking to Edith after the next bomp-bomp, he said "Well that is without a doubt the best Christmas present I have ever received."

"Makes it all quite real, doesn't it?" Edith asked, her smile beginning to quiver. Anthony sensed something uneasy. He watched Edith's face, the way her eyes looked down and not at him.

"What is it, dearest?" he asked gently, craning his neck to try and see her

"Oh, nothing. I'm terribly, terribly happy."

"Edith, I can't help if you don't tell me. Please?"

"I'm fine," she said definitely.

Anthony sighed, releasing her belly and tapping her bum. "Up," he demanded.

Edith moved automatically from his lap, shocked at his sudden brusqueness. Anthony removed himself from her hands and got out of bed.

"Have I upset you?" she asked helplessly, so unused to quarreling with her husband.

Anthony turned back to her, waving his hand in the air with a shrug. "What use is a marriage if you share nothing?" he asked in a low voice.

Edith climbed out of bed, her cheeks flushing in anger, and stomped over to Anthony. "You are my best friend. I tell you everything, and you know me far better than anyone on the planet. What on _earth_ do you mean 'share nothing' Anthony?"

"You won't tell me when you're sick, or when you need rest, or when you're absolutely terrified. So what am I left to do?"

"Terrified?" she asked, her voice suddenly small. She shrank away from him slightly.

"I know," he said, his tender patience returning, "that you are frightened. Darling, I am as well. But we must talk about it if we're ever to get through it. Together, right? Isn't that what we always say?" Anthony took Edith's hand quickly into his, as though he might catch her before a distance could come between them.

"I wasn't... I haven't kept things," she struggled, her eyes and voice betraying her.

Anthony kissed her hand and waited.

"I don't hide things from you, because there's no point. I just don't like you to worry more than you already will," she nearly shouted, sitting on the edge of the bed. Anthony lowered himself down beside her, their shoulders touching, his fingers still laced through hers.

"I know you are trying to spare me, but I sincerely wish you wouldn't."

"But I wasn't lying, Anthony. I am so happy."

"I know."

"It's just," she began. And then, like a great floodgate, she couldn't stop. "I've no idea what I'm doing, do I? I mean, I've failed so epically as Lady of the House that your cook went and ran away didn't she? And that was about picking some soufflés. What am I to do if I fail as a mother? I don't want our child to come to tea cleaned and pressed and then that's it. I know it's how we were raised, but it's wrong, Anthony. I want to love my child, and to know her, and make her know that she is wanted, and my parents have never shown me how. I don't know how be nurturing and warm. Oh, god, how does anyone ever learn to do this?"

As she broke into sobs, Edith laid back, burying her face in the soft duvet. Anthony laid beside her, running the back of his fingers up and down her arm.

"Edith, you have not failed at a thing. I would be more concerned if you weren't fretting over all this."

"Oh? And what are you so terrified of?" she blubbered into the folds of the blanket, her tone accusing.

"That I won't have the energy to do fatherhood justice, that I'll die and leave you two alone, that I will make a mess of things with my child like I did with you."

Edith lifted her head, her tears stifled by his quiet and sincere confession. Looking into his eyes, her heart broke for him. "Anthony," she began, but he put a finger to her lips.

"But then, I look at you, Edith, and I'm reassured. Oh, my darling, you _are_ warm, and so very, very nurturing. You take care of everyone around you. And you are going to be a wonderful mother. I worry about a lot of things, you know, but of that I am absolutely certain."

Edith quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I've been so focused on me I haven't asked you how you feel. I'm sorry."

"I feel incredibly blessed."

"So do I. And you're going to be the most adored father."

They shared an intense silence, each searching the other for what they lacked in themselves. And much to their satisfaction and relief, they found it. Edith laid her hand against Anthony's cheek, brushing a tear from under his eye with her thumb.

"Alright, my dearest," he said, "We'll be late if we don't hurry now."

"Oh gosh, I suppose you're right. I'm going to take a bath though. Do I look a mess?"

"Ghastly. Don't know what we'll do with you."

"You could join me in the bath," she suggested coyly.

"Right, best make sure you get a proper scrub, no?"

"Proper, exactly. It is Christmas after all."

"Mm, and you're going to have an awful lot of attention on you once you share our news."

"Oh, lord" Edith sighed, pulling Anthony towards her washroom, "Don't remind me."

* * *

Thank you for reading! Next installment is definitely Christmas dinner at Downton Abbey. Can't wait to see how they'll all react. :) Your reviews are lovely and continue to delight. Thanks ever so!


	24. Tidings of Joy

Edith and Anthony continued to clear matters as they made their way to Downton. The more they discussed, the more their mutual tension eased.

"I think," Anthony offered, "All new parents likely go through this. Only we, so typically Edith and Anthony, are making everything much more difficult than it ought to be."

"Well, we have good intentions, darling. At least there's that."

"The road to hell…" he warned with a humorous grin.

"Leads to family dinner at Downton," Edith joked as the car pulled onto the oak-lined drive. The Abbey loomed in the distance, a beacon and a reminder of what they faced.

"I really don't believe it will be as difficult as you imagine," Anthony said.

"Neither do I believe it will be as easy as you imagine."

"Somewhere in the middle then?" he offered, as though they were negotiating.

"It's not just because of Sybil," Edith explained. "It's that they've never approved of anything that makes me happy. It's almost a standard. Does Edith like it? Oh, well then surely it must be awful."

"Is that really fair?"

"You, driving, farming, you again, London, writing, and then you part three. All major battles against my family's objections."

"But you eventually swayed them on each subject."

"Did I? Don't flatter yourself," she teased, kissing his cheek as the car pulled up in front of the great door. "All I mean to say is that I can only assume, given the long and tedious past, they will first present disapproval and later reluctant acceptance, and hopefully actual joy sometime around our child's tenth birthday."

"Well, glad to see you're staying optimistic, my love," Anthony muttered as Carson opened the door and Alfred took their coats.

"Happy Christmas, Carson," Edith sighed, pulling subconsciously on her navy dress. It was newly made, only a touch wider in the middle than her usual pattern, with no belt or sash. It fell just below the knee and had a lovely keyhole cutout in the back and a spray of delicate silk flowers of the same navy cascading down from her left shoulder. It was simple, indeed, but necessarily so, Edith felt. And when she caught Anthony's stare she was not just satisfied with her purchase, but immensely pleased.

"Wonderful job with the tree this year, Carson," Anthony said sincerely, admiring the great fir, trimmed in gold and silver and rose and red.

"Thank you, and happy Christmas, Milady. Sir Anthony," the old butler greeted, bowing slightly. "You'll find them in the drawing room."

Edith gave Anthony one final look of longing and dread before she trudged dramatically across the hall and beckoned, "Come Daniel, to the lions den." He smiled at her inside joke and followed dutifully.

"Good day, all," Edith called tiredly as they entered. The Strallans were greeted by the usual round of halloos and happy Christmases.

"Well, we wondered if you'd even make it," Granny said as Edith kissed her on the cheek. "Are you suddenly so busy?"

"How do you mean, Gran?" Edith asked, sitting carefully beside her. She nonchalantly took one of the throw cushions into her lap.

"Well, none of us have since you since the christening, really. What on earth could you be up to?"

"I've seen you plenty. And Mary too. And we had dinner with Tom just last week, didn't we Tom?"

Tom, who looked particularly keen not to get involved, simply nodded and set Maddie to play on the floor.

"And Anthony's been out with us loads of times," Matthew added.

"Anyway," Edith shrugged, changing the subject, "Has anyone heard from Aunt Rosamund? I thought she'd be here by now."

"She's decided not to come until the New Year's shoot. Apparently she's entertaining some new, modern friends at her London home," Cora said, taking a flute of champagne from Carson.

"I've been meaning to bring that up," Cousin Isobel interjected in her usual, polite way that always made Granny roll her eyes. "I was thinking, since there are now so many of us who don't shoot, perhaps we could gather for an afternoon of entertainment here. Bridge, perhaps, or Edith could play some music. Then we could all meet for the usual tea with the hunters. What do you say? Together in our loneliness?"

Edith glanced at Anthony, gaging his reaction given he was the most obvious member of the party who no longer went shooting. He gave her a subtle nod, allowing that he was amenable to it.

"That would be lovely," Edith said, turning back to Isobel. "Mary, which party will you be joining this year?"

Edith flinched slightly. Mary, who hadn't uttered a peep the whole time, was staring at her pointedly, face frozen and her eyes wide.

"Mary? Is everything alright?" Cora asked, looking between her daughters.

Mary seemed to shake off whatever was on her mind and smiled cooly. "Of course, Mama. Why wouldn't it be. I think I'll join the hunt." Looking back to Edith with one eyebrow raised she added, "I'm feeling rather sharp this year."

The footmen brought up their meal before long and per custom, the Crawleys helped themselves. Standing over a the beet salad, Edith felt another movement, perhaps a roll or something. Her hand traveled instinctively to her belly, but she dropped it immediately, fighting the smile on her face.

"Edith, are you feeling well?" Mary asked, surprisingly close behind her. Edith jumped.

"Quite, thank you."

Mary dropped her voice. "Oh? And exactly how long have you been feeling 'quite well'?"

Edith ignored her for a moment, but it occurred to her that it may be easier telling them one at a time. She scanned the room and quickly found what she was looking for-Anthony's warm and bolstering gaze. He lifted his chin subtly at her, offering an affirming smile.

With a sigh, Edith set down her plate and turned to Mary. "Seventeen or eighteen weeks."

Mary's expression was unreadable. She stared blankly into Edith's eyes for a moment, her face white and still. With little more than a blink Mary turned on her heel and began to walk out of the drawing room.

"Mary?" Matthew asked after her, but his wife ignored him.

When Matthew moved to follow Edith quickly said, "No, I'll go," and rushed after her sister.

"Mary, please," Edith pleaded, following her sister up the stairs. Mary walked stiffly, hands clenched at her sides, but made no move to evade Edith. When they reached Mary's dressing room she left the door open for Edith, who shut it gently and waited.

They were quiet for a long time, Mary refusing to look at her sister. She folded into the chair before her vanity as though she could no longer stand. When she finally turned to Edith, her eyes were wide, and to Edith's surprise, incredibly sad.

"You're having a baby?"

Edith nodded apologetically and sank to the foot of the bed.

"You must have known when Sybil... that night."

"Actually, I found out that night."

Mary released a breath that she appeared to have been holding, and with it came unbidden tears.

"I'm so terribly sorry, Mary. I should have told all of you sooner, I just didn't know how. Between poor Sybil and Papa and Matthew fighting, and with how badly you've wanted this, I just-it never seemed to be the right time."

Mary shook her head. "_Have_ I wanted it?" she asked, her voice smaller and more raw than Edith had ever heard it.

"I don't understand," Edith said, tearing up herself at Mary's unusual display of vulnerability.

"You and Anthony, you are so in love. I can tell, just by the way you move, the way you look for him in the room, like he's the north to your compass."

"Yes," Edith affirmed hesitantly, unsure of where it was leading.

"I married Matthew because I loved him, because I do love him, but also because it was the right and least complicated thing to do. Edith, I don't need him the way you and Anthony need each other. I'm not reliant, I don't feel so desperately drawn to him. And worse, I don't know that I want to have children." Mary winced at her own words, as though her confession made them true. "It's always been this understanding, this unspoken agreement. Of course we would have children. It's what married people do. Especially married people who need an heir. But-" her voice failed her as she sobbed.

Edith, alarmed and unsure of this new Mary, moved to her, kneeling at her feeing and taking Mary's hands in hers.

"What if," Mary asked gravely, looking down at Edith with sincere worry and guilt in her eyes, "What if I haven't gotten pregnant because I don't want it badly enough? Because I don't love my husband well enough?" Mary's thin frame curved over, her head falling against her sister's shoulder as Edith held her defenselessly.

"I know how much you love Matthew. Anyone who knows you knows how right you are for each other."

"We bicker constantly. We're forever squabbling over the most ridiculous things," Mary cried, her voice muffled against Edith's dress.

"That doesn't mean anything. Mary, you live for bickering. You're too good at it to have a husband who won't fight with you. It's no wonder you married a solicitor."

To that Mary laughed lightly, her sobs ebbing into sniffing and stuttering breaths as she leaned back up. "You have a point," she said with a thin smile.

"And Mary, I promise you, you've done nothing wrong. Please, please don't blame yourself for not having children yet. There's no need to blame anyone. It'll happen if and when the time is right. You'll see."

Mary nodded weakly and looked away. They were quiet for a long while, Edith holding Mary, and Mary letting her. It was a rare and remarkable first for both of them. When Mary had calmed and taken a handkerchief from the vanity to wipe her eyes she looked back at her sister. She seemed lighter, refreshed.

"I've never told anyone that. I suppose I needed it," Mary murmured Edith offered a sympathetic smile, unsure if it would be appropriate to say _I'm glad it was me._ "Do I look alright? " Mary confirmed after a moment.

"When in our entire sodded lives have you ever not looked alright?" Edith asked with a wry smile, standing with a groan. She stretched her back and Mary, eye level with her sister's belly, reached for it out of the blue.

"And how are you feeling?" Mary asked softly, her thumbs running circles over the small protrusion.

"Oh, tired, but the sickness has passed for the most part, and-" Edith explained, but Mary shushed her.

"I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to the baby."

Edith couldn't suppress her grin as Mary laid her eartenderly against the belly.

"She kicks when Anthony speaks to her. Maybe she will for you as well."

"Oh, you'll have plenty of time to talk with your Auntie Mary when you're older. It's alright if you're a little shy now," Mary said softly. With a final affectionate pat she stood, offering Edith her hand. "Thank you for this."

"Thank you for letting me be your sister," Edith replied as they left.

"Unusual territory, isn't it?"

They were just reaching the top of the stairs when Anthony surprised them. "Oh, so sorry. I was sent on a scouting mission."

Without another word, Mary threw her arms around Anthony's neck and planted an affectionate kiss on his cheek. She stepped back just as quickly, and no passerby could have said which of the three was more shocked. After a moment Mary said, "I believe congratulations are in order, no?"

"Indeed, thank you very much Mary," Anthony said nervously.

"Shall we tell the others?" Edith asked, taking both of them in arm as they headed back down the stairs.

"Forgive me, darling, but I already have," Anthony confessed. Edith stopped walking and balked at him. "You see, I know how terribly you were dreading it, and there was no real way of explaining without just telling them outright. Do you mind?"

"Mind?" Edith scoffed, dropping her shoulders. "I'm so grateful to you I could cry."

"For heaven's sake, we've had enough of that for one night," Mary muttered, pulling Edith down the stairs. "Come, Mama. Let's go face your public."

Entering the drawing room, Edith was relieved to find nothing but well wishes and happy tears. She suspected, though no one would have admitted it, that Anthony had given them a fair if not stern warning. There was no fear, no regret to be found on anyone's faces, no interminable sadness in their eyes. Even Papa, who was unfailingly queasy about such things, gave Edith a proud and congratulatory hug.

As the evening carried on, and the children were sent to bed, and the traditional games began, Edith and Mary were both filled with a blitheness neither had felt in quite a long while. They shared several knowing glances that filled Edith with an indescribable emotion she hadn't quite experienced before. It occurred to her it must be that elusive sisterly bond, which she had never quite known in her twenty-seven years.

Sitting beside Granny on one of the sofas, Edith laughed as Tom tried to act out her clue of "Lady Windermere's Fan," chosen especially for its Irish author.

"You know something?" Granny asked quietly, wrapping her paper thin fingers around Edith's arm.

"What's that, Gran?" Edith wondered distractedly.

"I've never been one to get sentimental, as I'm sure you recognize. But I find myself growing rather fond of that husband of yours."

Edith raised her eyebrows at her grandmother, unable or unwilling to hide her astonishment. "I'm rather fond of him myself."

"I'm not ignorant of what he's done for you, or for my son, or for Mr. Branson. And," she seemed to struggle with herself before she said, almost irritably, "I'm glad you fought for yourself. For your marriage."

Edith kissed her Granny then, utterly unable to thank her verbally.

"Yes, dear, alright. Let's not make fools of ourselves," the Dowager Countess huffed, patting Edith's hand and leaning away, a feigned expression of boredom on her face.

"Lady Windermere's Fan!" Anthony shouted suddenly, causing Edith to jump. And as the rest of the Crawleys applauded, Edith put her hand against that wonderful bomp-bomp-bomp-her child reacting happily to its father's voice.


	25. New Year's Eve

"Something interesting in the morning post, my love?" Anthony asked, sucking some jam from the end of his thumb. Edith tossed the letter in her hand onto the table and slouched back in her chair with an indignant huff.

"Aunt Rosamund has invited Michael Gregson to the New Year's shoot," she complained.

"Gregson. Your editor?"

"My former editor," she corrected.

"I should think you'd like to see some of your old London friends."

"My 'London friends' were Anna and Mrs. Bass. Michael Gregson is no friend."

Anthony looked perplexed. "I was under the impression you were quite fond of him."

"I wish Aunt Rosamund would have the courtesy to ask before handing out invitations to my associations," she carped.

Anthony, recognizing the evasion and the edge in her voice, set his piece of toast down, crossed his legs, and leant back in his chair. He watched Edith and waited tolerantly for her inevitable explanation.

Edith rolled her eyes and finally met Anthony's gaze with a piqued but yielding expression. "Very well. It really is terribly insignificant."

"Clearly," he replied, his patient humor relaxing her.

"Michael Gregson _was_ my editor, and frankly the most tedious flirt that I've ever met. He did take my writing seriously, and he was good at his job I grant you, but the man failed at nearly everything else. Several times he tried to kiss me right there in his office, and I was admittedly flattered, but I never could bring myself to let him. It seems I couldn't quite bring myself to give up on you."

Edith reached under the corner of the table to squeeze the hand that rested on his knee and smiled sweetly at him.

"I'm glad," Anthony said with a thin smile, but Edith could see in his eyes it was not entirely true. The old insecurities, the question of this other life he'd always envisioned for her, seemed to be creeping back into their world momentarily.

Edith wouldn't have it. "I should also mention," she said gently, moving from her seat into his lap with a demure grace, "that he is also less than attractive, roughly your age, incredibly arrogant, and decidedly married."

Anthony patted her knee and released a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry I'm such a mope. I just loathe the idea of somehow keeping you behind, you see?"

Edith kissed him chastely. "You've kept me from nothing."

"I suppose it's too late for you now, regardless," he muttered with a sad grin, moving his hand to her tummy.

Edith laughed, looking down at the strange wonder of her growing middle. But she could feel him thinking, feel her husband turning over those endless battles he had with himself, even now, torn between selflessness and happiness.

"Come," Edith demanded brightly, hopping up and pulling him after her. "Come with me, we've got to look at something."

Anthony followed dutifully, trusting his wife's determination far more than his own thoughts at the moment.

In their room she pulled a small oak box from her vanity as he slumped into a chair near the window. The box had a delicate leaf pattern etched around the sides and two birds painted on the top. Anthony had not seen it before.

Edith took Anthony's lap again and presented the box to him. Inside were the letters she had kept the last day of their honeymoon. "Read," she commanded, slipping one from its envelope and handing it to him. "Out loud, if you please."

She laid back, fitting easily in the crook of his arm while he held the letter in front of them both. Anthony allowed his head to rest against hers as he began to speak her words.

_My Anthony,_

_September has arrived and brings with it cold and dubious weather. I don't mind, of course, because I rarely leave the house except when work demands it. Anna is gone for the afternoon to see her Mr. Bates and Mrs. Bass has taken three days to visit her son in Cornwall. He runs a hotel and pub there, and she's awfully proud of him. _

_I suppose most exciting of all is that I received a letter today from dear Sybil. She had the baby; a girl, called Madeline Frances (she is an Irishman's child, after all). _

_I wonder what this child will become, what she will endeavor to accomplish and who, god help her, she will fall in love with. Somewhere on this earth a boy is going about his day, utterly unaware that his great love has just entered it. Rather odd to think of, because from this moment forward their lives will propel them toward one another until that fated day, ten or twenty years from now, when they will first meet. And they will speak to us, the weary and the aged, of love's power as though they were the first to discover it._

_I suppose it sounds frightfully silly to you, practical and pragmatic love that you are, but I know it is possible. I know it because I have felt that draw, that inherent need. I've never been so certain of a thing in all my life as this: I was put on this earth to love you. It's strange. I think some people, like Mary perhaps, can love with only part of themselves, can keep some of themselves hidden from it. I am not so lucky. I love you with everything I am, trite as it may sound. (If the women who read my column were to find this letter I would be publicly flogged.) _

_I know that you believe I should live another life, one that you feel is somehow superior or more appropriate. But this is the life I was given, Anthony. And it is yours forever whether you accept it or not. _

_I will stop now I think, before the emptiness of this damnable house and the aching in my heart become too much. _

_I hope, as ever, that you will come to your senses, that you are taking care of yourself, that you are being gentle with yourself, and that we will meet again soon. I hope, because it is all I can do, because no matter what the future holds, I am yours and no one else's. _

_I love you._  
_Edith._

__Finished, Anthony let his arm rest on Edith's thigh and they both sat in silence for a moment. "Thank you," he finally said, "Thank you again, for reminding me. I am sorry I'm such a cad."

"Quite the opposite," she whispered, plucking the note from his hand and slipping carefully back into its little box. She snapped the brass clasp and exhaled a sigh of relief.

"I love you."

"And?" she demanded.

"And I know you love me. And we are ridiculously happy."

"Remarkably happy."

"Resplendently."

"Radiantly."

"Ravishingly."

"Romantically."

"That one doesn't count, it's not in the same category," he teased. And Edith knew her dear, boyishly carefree Anthony had returned to her.

"Is that so, Sir Strallan?" she asked coyly, twisting on his lap so she might face him properly. When he looked down at her, those eyes like deep glass, she caught his face in her hands and pulled his lips to hers.

"Who was the tenacious flirt?" He had a glint in his eye that sent a delicious shock through Edith, no matter how many times she'd seen it before.

"I didn't say tenacious, I said tedious," she corrected, slightly breathless and flushed. Though she sometimes appeared to be the dominant half of their marriage, Anthony exposed a weakness in Edith that only he was privy to. He had an affect on her that never failed, and never dulled. And he knew it.

Anthony kissed his wife again. Gentle, patient, all of those things that were so characteristically him. His thin lips, which were so often pulled into the uneven smile Edith adored, were soft and warm. While she had little to compare, Edith was fairly certain her Anthony was an impeccable kisser. His mouth opened to steal the most innocent taste of her bottom lip. His control, she thought as her body was set to flame, was maddening.

She tried to be as calm and moderate as her husband, tried to slow her pulse and the thrumming in her chest. Anthony seemed onto her game, and began to trace his nose along the arch of her neck, and the bowing curve of her collarbone. His arm, wrapped as it was around her back, served to pull her toward him in a move that was just forceful enough to kindle the growing want in her. Pressed closer together, Anthony allowed their kisses to deepen, but only just so. Edith writhed against him, hands in his hair, but he pulled back slightly.

"You're taunting me," she muttered.

"Am I?" He cocked his head slightly, trying not to smile.

"Oh, you are so clever," she gibed, "But you won't win."

"I think I win at this game regardless," he mused, frowning as though they were arguing philosophy.

Edith, unwilling at the moment to do battle with him verbally, leaned and kissed his cheek, and his jaw, and pulled his earlobe between her lips. And when she finally felt his hand traveling her side greedily, she kissed him again, slipping her tongue primly along his lip. When she felt his reaction against her leg she leaned back with a smug expression, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes, alright," he growled irritably, though he was fighting that grin of his. "You win."

"I think we both win at this game," she repeated.

"Well go on, then," he snapped in joking haste.

Edith stood, feeling the ache of separation only for a moment before she had her hands under his shirt and in his chest hair. They fumbled with their clothes, both huffing and laughing and muttering frustrations.

"Ridiculous," she griped between hungry kisses, "It's nine in the morning. I only put these things on an hour ago and now I'll have to change." Anthony smiled his agreement, distracted with the loop buttons on her blouse. Unable to wait much longer she whined, "Oh, rip the damn thing!"

And so he did. Her underthings, far more delicate and made of lace, she removed herself. She was ready to throw him to the bed when she caught his expression. It was not entirely readable, and she paused.

"What?" she asked nervously. Everything about her was more round, she knew. Her breasts were a bit larger, though she hadn't been buxom to begin with. Her hips were fuller, her curves exaggerated by the little protrusion that she was suddenly very conscious of. "Anthony, I'm going to put all my things back on if you don't say something."

"You are," he said, eyes shamelessly wandering over her, "without a doubt, the most beautiful being I've laid eyes on."

Edith, never one to take a compliment well despite the many her gave her, blushed. "Seen a lot of naked pregnant women?" she deflected.

Anthony stepped toward her, proud and possessive. His hand slid over her stomach, along her side, and came to rest above her backside. He peered down at her for a long while before asking, "Are you going to be flip or are you going to get into that bed?"

His voice, somewhere between playful and wanton, the feel of his arm around her and the strength of his chest beneath her hands, left little room for choice. Edith clasped her arms around his neck and sighed dramatically. "Oh, very well."

Anyone wandering the second floor hall at eleven that morning would have heard nothing but the happy laughter and sweet murmurs of two expectant parents. That the sweet couple was naked and quite in disarray was not so obvious. Inside their pleasant room, now filled with gold late-morning sun, Edith and Anthony were lounging together on the floor in a tangle of sheets, leaning against the foot of their bed, legs overlapping as they stretched in front of them. They were both giddy, giggling like school children, as they talked.

"I don't know, I just do," Edith shrugged. "I know she's a girl. I can't explain it."

"Well I'll bet on the losing horse for the sake of sport and say it's a boy," Anthony declared, his hand resting on her stomach.

"I suppose one of us has to be right, then," she sighed. "Or something has gone terribly wrong." They had another fit of laughter.

"And what shall we bet? If it's a boy, and I'm right, what is my prize?"

"You can pick the name."

"And if it's a girl?"

"I choose."

"That's not fair. I'm betting on the losing horse, remember? Odds are in your favor."

"It's a risk you'll have to take."

"If you're going to be like that, I think I may leave you alone with Michael Gregson tomorrow and see how you fare."

"Do it and I'll tell Rosamund you're just itching to hear all the gossip from her trip to Scotland."

"I'm not a young man, Edith, I don't think I have that kind of time."

Edith stretched and wrapped her arms around her husband as they burst into another fit of laughter. "Oh, don't leave me for a moment. As terrible as we both are at parties, we must stick together," she managed.

"I'll never leave you for as long as I live, my darling. Your life is mine, remember? And mine is yours," Anthony muttered fervently into her ear, until the closeness of their bodies silenced them once more.

* * *

A/N: Hallo dear readers. I hope you enjoyed this little chapter half as much as I've enjoyed your reviews! You're very kind and I couldn't be more grateful. (Am I the only one holding out hope Anthony will show up in the Christmas Special and save Edith from this Gregson character?) Happy reading, and thanks always for staying with me on this little jaunt!


	26. The Hunt

A/N: Sorry for the delay, I feel like it's been a while since I updated. This chapter is more from Anthony's perspective, and it's also relatively long. Hope you don't mind. :) (And there may be a clear bias here against a certain Editor. I can't help myself, I just don't care for the man!)

Thanks so much for continuing to read, and for the lovely reviews. They make my day every time and I am just thrilled someone else can enjoy my little obsession. Happy reading!

* * *

Anthony stood at the car, staring out over the yards of Locksley. The sprawling greens fell away in all directions, leading to hill and orchard and farm depending on which course you followed. When he was a boy the drive had two deep grooves in it from the carriages, long gone with the invention of the motor, but it held the same shape, curving slightly as it always had.

He smiled fondly at the old oak in the near distance that he'd fallen from as a child and broken his ankle, sending his neurotic mother into a fit that lasted far longer than the actual injury. The birds nesting in it were the descendants of the same birds that lived during his father's childhood. He'd watched them come and go for hours when Maud had died, not so much out of grief but out of a complete lack of companionship. She was a good friend, and as her face floated back to him on the breeze he glanced down in remembrance.

But when Anthony looked around Locksley he did not see Maud, or even his childhood. He never had. It had always just been the great house he came to between travels and business ventures. Now, though - now it was different; it was teeming with life and color. The brick seemed redder, the fields greener, the wings of those birds more emerald-black than ever before.

And when he walked the halls and the grounds, he did not see emptiness or the ghosts of his past. Instead, he saw Edith in every book, stone, chair, and lamp. Walking the orchards he saw her mischievous smirk, in the library the fan of her eyelashes against her porcelain cheek as she read, in the dining room the shape of her mouth darkened with merlot.

The rose fabric of the drawing room settee was the shade of her cheek when she blushed, the mahogany desk of his study reminiscent of her deep and lovely eyes, though nothing could capture the fire in them. And in their bedroom - their bedroom was a visceral deluge of sounds, and images, and tastes, and textures and a thousand moments of overwhelming love.

Edith was the breath and the heartbeat of this old place. _And_, he thought to himself, _of this old man too._

"I'm sorry to keep you. I tried to dress appropriately for the shoot, though I know we're not actually going. I just feel so obviously pregnant that anything I put on almost feels silly," Edith was muttering as she came down the front steps.

Edwards followed, alarmed that she'd opened the front door for herself, but Edith didn't seem to notice. She was wearing a cream satin blouse, cut high and straight at the collarbone, with a brown tweed skirt and a long, belted cardigan in navy tied above her belly. It was the new casual fashion, but Edith didn't see it as daring so much as practical. Simple enough, surely, but Anthony froze as she came to a stop in front of him.

"Oh gosh, is it too informal? Mary said she might even wear slacks for the shoot if she could get them cut in time. I think she's bored and trying to get a rise out of Mama," she rambled. Edith stopped and looked at Anthony sideways when his expression didn't change. "What is it, darling?"

"I just," Anthony began, shaking his head. Then, with a shrug he asked, "Do you realize how pretty you are? You are desirable, of course. But you are also so very pretty. Do you know? It takes me by surprise sometimes, is all."

Edith, trying not to get too sentimental, just said, "You dear man." They grinned at each other for a moment before she added, "We both look like fools. Come, husband, let's go fulfill our familial obligations so I can get you back home as soon as possible."

"I adore the way you think," he muttered, helping her into the motor.

"I adore _everything_ about you. Say, we should get married."

"Maybe have a child. Can you imagine what he would be like?"

"Oh, she would be an absolute dream I'm sure."

"Well let's consider it, shall we?"

"Sure, we'll think it over for a few days," she said with a giggle, folding her hands under her belly.

Anthony's lips were on hers, enthusiastically and with a zeal that set her heart racing. "Careful, we won't make it to the shoot if you keep that up, and then we'll have to make calls individually."

"Lord, what a point," he sighed.

Edith kissed his shoulder with a sympathetic laugh. "My poor Anthony. Went and married a fellow reluctant title. At least now we can commiserate."

As they made their way to the Abbey, Anthony was tensing by the minute and Edith knew very well what he wasn't saying. The last time they had attended a real party was the night before their first attempt. All of their old acquaintances had spent a year scorning him, and six months gossiping about them both. Poor Anthony, Edith thought, always doing what he thinks is best and forever being misunderstood for it.

Edith looked up at her husband, at the worry in his eyes as they darted back and forth over the landscape without seeing it, at the nervous, downward curve of his beautiful lips, the boyish curl of his graying hair. Lord how she loved him, this good and decent and adoring man. How they could be so anxious over a group of soulless, gutless, social vipers was suddenly a mystery.

"I love you, you know. We'll make our appearances for Mama and Papa's sake, and if we're miserable we will go. They're none of them worth this dread."

"I love you, my dearest," he said fervently, giving her knee a squeeze.

They were silent the rest of the drive and when they pulled up to the big house, it seemed swarming with activity. Samson pulled the motor behind three others that were being unloaded-friends of Papa's Edith didn't entirely recognize. Mama and Papa were greeting the guests and the receiving line was down to just Carson and Mrs. Hughes, as the rest of the staff was busy preparing others for the shoot. Edith and Anthony took a bracing breath together before stepping out.

"Anthony, good man! I'm so glad you could make it," Robert exclaimed, genuinely pleased to see the gentlemen. Though technically his son-in-law, Edith knew very well Papa would never see him as such, but was thrilled that they were instead friends, and peers.

"Robert, excellent day for a shoot. I only wish I could join the rest of you," Anthony said, leaning to kiss Cora on the cheek.

"Well we're very lucky to have you accompany our group in the alternative," Cora said sincerely. "We're only waiting on just a few more. Please go in and we'll join shortly."

Stopping just for a moment before entering, Edith turned to Anthony and said, "I'm proud to be here, on your arm, to be carrying your child. I just want you to know that." And then she pushed open the door.

The Jarvises were there, and several of Papa's old acquaintances from London. The Lesters had come as well, with whom Matthew was standing. The first and last time Edith had seen the Lesters had turned out to be the most momentous night of her life. Anthony seemed to have the same thought as he nodded at them and pulled Edith tighter.

As Mary came toward Edith and Anthony, a certain arch of her eyebrow offered a look of warning.

"Trouble already?" Edith muttered as Mary stopped before them. Mary greeted Anthony with a kiss on the cheek, something Edith did not take for granted.

"Aunt Rosamund has been eagerly anticipating your arrival. Mr. Gregson was not far ahead of you and she seems to be waiting for some sort of drama unfold."

"She'll be disappointed, I'm afraid," Anthony said with a certainty that set Edith immediately at ease. He was not one to play social games, and Edith was comforted by the knowledge he was above Aunt Rosamund's prodding.

"I just thought I'd apologize in advance, Anthony," Mary said, warmly for her, before turning to join the rest of the party.

It did not go unnoticed by Edith or Anthony that they were on the receiving end of many a sideways look as they mingled with the other guests. But somehow, standing together, none of it seemed to matter. And once they made it across the room, and were settled happily into a corner with their tea, chatting with Cousin Isobel, the others seemed to lose interest.

Except, of course, for Aunt Rosamund. She came bounding towards them with the enthusiasm of a child at Christmas, Mr. Gregson in toe. "Edith, darling, I wondered if you'd make it. How wonderful to see you, it's been too long, really. And Mother told me of your news, of course. I suppose I must say congratulations," the pernicious woman rattled off. Edith shifted her weight into Anthony, looking for his assurance. "And this is Michael Gregson, of course."

"Rosamund, it has been a long while," Anthony greeted. His tone was just jovial enough that Edith knew it was an effort, but she adored him for making it when she was incapable. "And it is a pleasure, Mr. Gregson," he continued. "Forgive me for not shaking hands. I'm Sir Strallan."

Michael Gregson was not a tall man, and that he stood a whole head and a shoulder under Anthony pleased Edith to no end. He was nearly ten years younger than Anthony, but his pinched features and general lack of friendliness made him look trollish juxtaposed to Anthony's handsome good humor. His pompous and self-adoring nature made him seem ridiculous in comparison to Anthony's placid and kindly humility.

Gregson nodded stiffly to Anthony before turning to Edith. "Edith, how good to see you," the man greeted, offering his hand.

"It's Lady Strallan now," she corrected, swiftly placing her hand on Anthony's chest to avoid Gregson's kissing it.

"Of course. Your letter of resignation was quite a disappointment, I must say. But I am so pleased to see you. Everything is good, I trust?"

"I couldn't be happier," Edith said with a smile. That she meant it was obvious, too. Anthony's left hand moved from Edith's shoulder to her lower back, and his thumb made soothing circles, letting her know she wasn't alone.

"And how is The Sketch? Frightfully exciting, the newspaper business, is it not?" Rosamund asked Gregson, though she was watching Edith.

"Well, I suppose there's always news to be told. We just ran a piece about the American prohibition and the underground bootlegging economy. Quite interesting. Did you happen to see it, Sir Strallan? It's just the sort of thing your lovely wife used to jump at."

"Don't get The Sketch, I'm afraid," he said simply, cutting Gregson's conversation short without leaving room for further discussion.

Rosamund seemed ready to try another route when the shoot was announced. Nearly everyone was participating. Those left behind gathered in the drawing room. Isobel, Rosamund, Cora, and Mrs. Jarvis were playing bridge, leaving Anthony and Edith to themselves for most of the afternoon. It wasn't until much later, after luncheon, that Edith found herself cornered by Gregson in the back hall. She had been returning from the washroom when he stepped out from an alcove and startled her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you," he said quickly.

"I find that hard to believe indeed," Edith said, instinctively tightening her sweater over herself.

"I only wanted a moment to see how you're really doing. You know, give you a chance to talk. I can't imagine what you've been putting up with."

"What on earth are you on about?" she asked indignantly.

"Well, I suppose I don't see your reason for marrying the old codger. You were successful, free. Now the man won't even let you write. And all the while I was there."

"Let me write? I no longer write because I am fulfilled. It was a job to pass the time. I may take it up again, should the mood strike, but it would be with the support of my husband. And I certainly wouldn't be writing for you, regardless."

"You can't really be happy, can you? With a man of his age, only one arm, who once jilted you at the altar no less?"

Edith balked for a moment, lining up her reasons for marrying Anthony, all the ways he was wonderful and good. But as she stared into the dark, beady eyes of the man before her she suddenly realized it didn't matter. "I would lay out all the reasons that Sir Strallan is a far superior man to you, Michael, but there's just not enough time. If you'll excuse me," she said, moving past him. She could practically hear Anthony's voice saying, _That's it, darling. He's not worth the breath._

Gregson caught Edith by the arm, pulling her to a stop. He opened his mouth to say something more, but suddenly Edith did hear Anthony's voice. Close-by too, and far more authoritative than she'd ever experienced before.

"Edith, darling. Would you mind if I had a word with Mr. Gregson? Just us gents?" He was not looking at her but at the rather unashamed man beside her. His voice was steady, but his face was stern and his eyes were alit with ire. Edith, having never seen her husband in such a state, said nothing. She hurried off to find Mary, looking back just as Anthony gripped Michael on the shoulder and pushed him down the hall and toward the front door.

"Alright, no need to shove," Gregson said cooly as he stumbled slightly into the frigid dusk.

"You will leave at once," Anthony said quietly.

"What is it you've got an issue with exactly? That I was talking to your wife, or that I was right about her being unhappy?"

"What I take issue with, Gregson, is married men who proposition young women, then show up, uninvited and unwelcome, to criticize their lives."

"You should get your facts straight," Gregson spat.

"My facts are my wife's, and therefore all that I need. You're the newspaper man. Perhaps it is you who should sort your own story. Now, if you'll wait here, I'll have Mr. Carson bring your things and your driver."

Gregson, infuriated by Anthony's collected confidence, took several angry steps forward.

Then three things happened at once: Matthew, Mary, and Edith came through the front door to see what was going on; Gregson pulled Anthony's shoulder with one hand as his other wound up to strike; and Anthony spun around, hitting Gregson solidly on the cheek with his own fist in an expertly swift blow.

Edith shrieked once in surprise, as Matthew bolted forward to offer his support. It was, however, totally unnecessary. Gregson was scrambling from the ground, holding his face as he growled curses at Anthony.

"Mr. Gregson was just leaving," Anthony said quietly to Matthew, straightening his waistcoat. "Perhaps you'd be so kind as to help him find his driver?"

"I'll go," Mary offered, though she was nearly laughing as she ducked back inside. Matthew, too, was fighting a sort of fond smile for the ever-surprising Anthony.

Anthony turned and walked casually back to a rather stunned Edith, as though he'd just arrived from an afternoon stroll, and offered her his arm.

Inside, Anthony went straight into the library and sunk into the nearest chair. "I'm so dreadfully sorry, Edith. I saw him grab you like that and I became so furious. I hope you can forgive me," he begged, dropping his head into his hand.

"Forgive you? I don't think I've ever loved you more," she said with a disbelieving little laugh. She planted herself in his lap and pulled his hand from his brow.

"I lost my temper. The man is, without a doubt, an unmitigated ass, but I shouldn't have struck him."

"Well I'm not sorry you did. I know you're far too noble for such things, but if ever a man deserved to be knocked to the ground it was him."

Anthony let out an exasperated laugh and looked up to meet his wife's gaze. "Our first party as a married couple ends in a juvenile fist fight. Brilliant."

"Darling, if all our parties ended like this I might be inclined to attend more than one a year." She kissed her hero, then, proudly and passionately.

"Well he's gone. What in God's name was that about?" Mary asked as she and Matthew came into the library, shutting the door behind them.

"Anthony was defending my honor," Edith said with a laugh.

"Well you did a first rate job of it," Matthew scoffed. "Were you a boxer?"

"He's not even naturally left-handed," Mary laughed, patting a blushing Anthony on the shoulder.

"I've behaved like a school boy," he muttered. "I only hope no one noticed."

"I don't think anyone suspects a thing," Matthew assured.

Mary added, "And you know he certainly won't be telling anyone."

The four of them burst out laughing, and proceeded to come up with increasingly wild stories he might tell to explain the bruise. They were all in quite a fit when Cora and Robert came in.

"We thought you'd left. You've missed the others," Robert said. Catching their expressions he asked, "What's gotten into you four?"

"Anthony was just telling us a funny story," Edith sighed, rising from her husband's lap. "But now, I'm rather tired and I think I'd like to go home."

Waiting for Samson to bring the car around, the Crawleys and the Strallans said their goodbyes.

"Thank you for coming, my darlings," Cora said, taking Edith and Anthony in each of her hands. "I know these gatherings aren't your favorite, but it means so much to us that you came."

"It was lovely, Cora," Anthony said, kissing her cheek. He patted Robert's shoulder and made arrangements to get together in the next several days for some outing or another. Edith wasn't paying attention. She was watching Matthew and Mary, and noting the sort of awe in the way they looked at her husband.

"See you soon," Edith called as Anthony helped her into the car and shut the door behind them. Turning to her dear husband, she finally released everything she'd been feeling.

"Oh, have I gone and made you cry? I'm sorry I upset you, dear one. I lost my temper, but I didn't mean to embarrass you," he apologized, cradling her against his chest.

"No, no," she blubbered, helping herself to the handkerchief in his breast pocket. "I'm not embarrassed. Far from it." When she gathered herself a bit, Edith looked up into his brilliant, worried eyes. "You said this morning that I take you by surprise sometimes."

"I meant it," he replied.

"Well I meant it when I said I was proud of you. And you still surprise me sometimes too. Every time I start to think I couldn't possibly love you more you go and do something that proves me wrong."

"I should come to blows with old suitors more often, eh?" he asked with a laugh.

"Do what you like, Anthony. I don't think anything could make me love you less."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it," he whispered, resting his chin atop her head as the car bounced down the road. "And I must admit, opposed as I am to violence, it felt rather satisfying knocking that rake to the ground."

"Not as satisfying as it was to watch. I think even Matthew fell in love with you a little at the sight."

"Well, maybe I went for the wrong Crawley," Anthony teased, pulling Edith tighter.

Edith laughed heartily. "It's too late for you, Anthony Strallan. You're mine and I'm never letting go."

And she didn't let go of him for the rest of the drive, and well into the small hours of morning.


	27. Patience

Edith was having a moment. Standing before the long mirror in her dressing room, pregnant as a pelican, she began to cry. She turned to one side, and then the other, looking at the ever-growing protrusion that pulled her skin taught and had caused her hips to widen just so and her breasts to swell. She didn't recognize herself, and while she'd embraced the changes so far, today it felt as though her body wasn't her own. She dropped her head into her hands as the sobs ripped through her.

"Darling, I thought we might stay in town if the concert goes very late. I worry about you traveling. Of course it's up to you. We can see how you feel-" Anthony was saying as he entered her dressing room, straightening his own tie. He apologized briefly when he saw she wasn't quite ready, but her tear-streaked face and quivering lip troubled him a great deal more. "Whatever is the matter?"

"I'm enormous. I am. Nothing I put on is helping the fact that I've doubled in size, and I am just so sorry you have to been seen in public with your overgrown wife." The tears began again, hot and abundant, and she didn't even try to wipe them away as she stared at her stomach. "And it's still only April, Anthony. I'm not due until June. Can you imagine how big I'll be in June?"

Anthony moved to stand behind her, placing his hand soothingly on her neck and meeting her eyes in the mirror. He knew this was a fleeting problem, that tomorrow she'd be content and pleased again. But in this moment his heart broke a little for her.

"I think you're lovely, and beautiful, and charming, and wickedly attractive," he finally whispered. He meant every word, and she knew it. "And if you're this gorgeous in April, I can't wait to see what June holds for us."

Edith looked down at her belly again. "I don't mind it. Really I don't. I've loved being pregnant. It's just this formal wear. I look like a great, peach ornament covered in all these beads. And these gloves are cutting into my new-found arm fat," she griped gesturing helplessly at the coral gown and white satin gloves. Anthony saw no such arm fat but didn't dare argue with her in this moment.

Instead he kissed her neck, and silently slipped each glove off one at a time.

"What are you doing?" she asked, sniffling as her crying abated.

"I'm getting you undressed."

"Why?"

"Because we're not going to the concert."

"We're not?"

"No," he said patiently, "we're not. We're going to put you in the blue dress you're so fond of, and then we're going to call to Downton and accept your mother's invitation to have supper with them."

"You won't be sorry to miss the concert?"

"Truthfully, darling, I'm rather relieved I don't have to worry about you for an entire drive to London and back, and I've almost got your father at the chess game we've had going the last several weeks. I should be glad to see Tom, too, and Cora said he'd be joining. Let's forget about the concert, hmm?"

Edith turned and threw her arms around her husband. "Thank you, Anthony. I just couldn't face it tonight. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be."

"You're wonderful, you know."

"I am rather, yes," he joked, dismissive of her praises. He kissed her head and added soothingly, "Dry your tears, my love. Please don't be sad."

"I'm not sad. I'm just pregnant, and a complete disaster. Oh god, I never used to cry like this. At least not in front of anyone."

"I'm not anyone. Anyway, it's nice being needed once in a while."

"I need you always."

"Good," he replied simply. Sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed, Anthony addressed the belly directly. "And you, my child, be good to your Mum tonight. She needs a rest, alright?"

"Do you feel that?" Edith asked with a smile, pressing his hand to one spot.

"Indeed," he whispered. The sense of wonder he always expressed at the baby's movement never grew wearisome for Edith.

"Thank you. I feel immensely better. And I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. Your emotional state changes like the wind but I find it's rather entertaining, really," he said dryly. Edith pretended to be angry, giving his arm a pinch. "Your violent streak isn't much improved by your condition, I dare say," he muttered. He rose quickly, giving her a warm and loving kiss before moving for the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice accusing.

"To get undressed. I'm not wearing tails to dinner."

"I'll undress you. If you don't find me too hideous," she replied. Her usual flirtatious manner was undermined by the mild insecurity in her large eyes.

He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of his tiny, round Edith. If Anthony were to tell the truth, Edith's current state was a constant reminder both of his own virility and the success, for lack of a better word, of their rather active private lives. Beautiful and alluring as she was before, Anthony could hardly contain himself around her now.

"I thought you'd never ask," he said casually, shutting the door and tossing the gloves in his hand over his shoulder.

When Edith and Anthony walked into the drawing room at Downton, they were first greeted by little more than a stunned silence.

"What?" Edith asked, looking down at her pale blue dress to see if she'd missed a button or something.

"You look wonderful," Anthony whispered to her, leading her into the room by the small of her back.

"We thought you were going to a concert tonight," Cora said, smiling widely at them. "Oh how wonderful that you came after all."

"Sorry, Mama, I forgot to tell you. Mrs. Patmore knows they'll be joining us for dinner," Mary said, reaching both her arms out for Edith to sit by her.

"Granny seems less than pleased," Edith said tentatively, watching Gran's face as she lowered herself onto the sofa with some effort.

"Forgive me, Edith. Most of us aren't used to seeing women at this advanced stage out and about. In my day you would have been in confinement already."

"Confinement," Edith grumbled. "Why should I be locked away just because I'm going to be a mother? I'm pregnant, not diseased."

"So it's not contagious then?" Tom joked as he handed Anthony a whiskey.

Granny gave an admonishing look as the younger generation laughed.

"Well, you're always very welcome," Cora appeased, looking pointedly at Robert.

Papa, great man that he was, couldn't help but feel an uneasy embarrassment around all things female. He cleared his throat awkwardly and forced a smile. It was also much easier to like Anthony when he could pretend the man hadn't put Edith in this condition in the first place, but the developing bump under her gown made that nearly impossible.

"Of course, that goes without saying," he managed, though he frowned slightly as he stared at his shoes. "Anthony, care to revisit our game? I believe we last left your queen in peril, no?" Edith smiled as her husband gave a conspiratorial wink and followed Robert into the study.

"Carson will be announcing dinner any minute, boys. Don't be late," Cora called after as Tom and Matthew followed.

"They've formed quite the club, haven't they?" Granny asked.

"And thank heaven, too. It wasn't that long ago I thought we'd have to hire a moderator just to have a meal together," Cora chirped.

"We didn't have to hire a mediator, Edith just married one instead," Mary said, casting an approving smile in her sister's direction.

Granny rolled her eyes, and turned to Cora with news of Rosamund's trip to Scotland to visit the cousins.

"And how are you feeling?" Mary asked quietly, pulling one leg onto the settee so she might face Edith directly.

Edith ran her hands over her stomach. "Very, very happy. And giant. And a bit tired, but Dr. Clarkson said it's normal. Anthony's made me check in with him practically every week, poor dear. He worries so much."

"Better than the alternative, I suppose. Is he excited?"

"Oh, he's over the moon. And infinitely patient," Edith smiled guiltily. "The other day I threw a book at his head for turning the pages of his paper too loudly."

"What did he do?"

"Walked over, kissed the top of my head, and said, 'I love you,' before happily taking his paper elsewhere." Both sisters giggled.

"It's official. You married a saint."

"You may be right," Edith sighed before flinching slightly. "Ooh, someone's ready for dinner," she laughed, cradling her belly as the baby kicked against her.

Mary looked tentative. "May I? Feel it, I mean?" she asked.

Edith pulled her sister's hand against the bomp-bomp without hesitation and watched Mary's beautiful, controlled face melt into a grin.

"That's remarkable," Mary muttered, laughing. "Does it hurt?"

"Not usually, though every once in a while she'll get my ribs or my bladder."

"Lovely," Mary said, but it wasn't in her usually critical, sarcastic way. Edith watched her face closely, sliding her own hand over Mary's.

"It will happen, Mary. I'm sure of it," Edith whispered as Mary evaded eye contact.

"Edith, have you found a nurse yet? If you wait much longer it'll be too late," Cora asked, pulling the sisters from their shared moment.

"Uh, no," Edith said distractedly, worried about the tears in Mary's eyes. When Mary gave a warning look she turned her full attention to her mother. "No, I don't plan on hiring a nurse, actually."

"What do you mean?" Violet asked, sincerely bewildered.

"I want to nurse the baby myself. I don't want to send her away every time she needs me."

"Edith, darling, I don't think you realize yet what you're taking on," Cora said. Whether she intended to be so patronizing Edith was not sure.

"Yes I do. Really, I do. Women with less means raise their own children every day. Anna, for instance, is doing a beautiful job with little Jack, and she doesn't have a nurse. I don't know why I should be any different." Edith felt her face growing red in frustration, and a little, if she was honest, in hurt.

"Right, you are a Lady, and you are very fortunate in your circumstances, which is why I don't understand why you wouldn't want help," Cora retorted.

"I'll have help. I'll have Anthony, of course. I don't want someone else raising my children."

"Children? You mean to tell me you plan on having more? And with no nurse or nanny?" Violet asked, truly scandalized by her granddaughter's plans. "And how does Anthony feel about this?"

"Anthony's tickled by the idea," Edith said, shocked at the row that was forming over something so natural as wanting to be with her children.

"Right, well, we'll see how he feels at three in the morning after getting no sleep," Granny scoffed.

"And how much do you know about that, Gran?" Mary asked, surprising even Edith with her contempt.

Granny gaped for a moment, unable to form a response because, of course, Mary was right. Granny's idea of hands-on parenting was kissing her children on the head before they were sent to bed with their separate governesses.

"I don't want to fight, really I don't," Edith sighed. "But I do wish that you'd respect my decision, just once, and that you'd at least try to understand."

"Oh Edith," Cora said dismissively, "Let's not start all that again. A woman of your circumstance not hiring a nurse? Well, it simply isn't done."

"Mama, I really don't think," Mary began, but she was interrupted by Carson announcing dinner. Mary hooked Edith's arm in solidarity as all four women left in a terse silence.

"Well what's next, a cold July I suppose?" Violet grumbled to Cora, gesturing to her granddaughters as they walked ahead. Displeased as Cora was about the argument, she couldn't help but feel glad to see Mary and Edith getting so close after so many years of bickering.

They met the gentlemen in the hall, who seemed chummy as ever, and utterly oblivious to any tension between the other four.

Except Anthony, of course, who saw it right away in Edith's face. "Everything alright, my dear?" he asked quietly as he kissed her temple before taking their seats at the table.

"I'll tell you later," she replied, giving his hand a squeeze.

Dinner seemed to lighten the mood after the row. Tom and Matthew were quite funny together, and Robert was in a particularly pleasant state. Feeling exhausted and unwilling to sit through any further conversation, Edith hinted to Anthony and they took their leave immediately following dessert.

"Anthony, you really should know better than to allow Edith to travel this late in the pregnancy," Granny nagged as they all said their goodbyes in the hall. She was still smarting from the disagreement.

"In fact, I know better than to _allow_ my wife to do anything. But I am taking care of her, I promise," Anthony countered jovially, easily deflecting Granny's jibe.

"Touche," Mary muttered, kissing Anthony goodbye.

"Mary, I wondered if you might come for tea tomorrow. I need help with the nursery, and you've far more talent for prints and fabrics than I. Do come and help, won't you?" Edith pleaded, her expression saying far more than her query.

"Pleasure," Mary agreed, knowing full-well what Edith wanted to talk about, and it certainly wasn't decorating.

When they had changed into their nightclothes and climbed into bed, Edith told Anthony the entire story. "It's so infuriating, after all these years, that I still get no credit at all. That _we_ get no credit. They still don't see it, Anthony. They still don't see what you and I have," she finished with a growl.

"I'm proud of you for staying your ground, but darling, why does it matter?"

"What do you mean?"

"If they don't see what we have, why should it matter? You're Mama now. You're the Lady of this house, wife to a man that loves you madly. Why do you care if they approve?"

Edith frowned for a moment in thought. "I've absolutely no idea," she finally said, looking up at him, "But I do."

That Edith's great doe-eyes conveyed so much trust and hope when they met his filled Anthony with an overwhelming pride. That she, Lady Edith, was in his bed, carrying his child, confiding in him, being his wife, well it struck him suddenly and profoundly. He owed her everything, wanted to give her everything. As her eyes searched his for a response, many grandiose words flashed through his mind, but not one in his rather extensive vocabulary could begin to encompass all that he felt for the woman beside him.

He choked a bit on his emotions, his voice cracking and giving him away. "Well, then we'll just keep proving them wrong. We do it together."

"Thank you for understanding," she sighed, leaning into him, "And for being the single most patient man on earth."

"I want to raise our children too. I loved my nanny more than anything as a boy, including my own mother, and I'd hate for our child to grow up like that."

Edith leaned up and kissed Anthony's jaw. "Could we be any better suited to each other?" she mused sweetly, closing her eyes and settling against his chest.

"Not likely," he said with a smile, stroking Edith's soft hair until her body relaxed, and her breathing slowed, and she gave in to the overwhelming urge to sleep. And never had he loved her more.


	28. Tea and Linens

A/N: Thank you all for continuing to read! You've been so wonderful and generous. I can't tell you how glad it makes me!

Anthony seems to have decided enough is enough when it comes to Crawley-Family interference. :) And he is justly rewarded for it in the end too. Enjoy!

* * *

"Well, let's dispense with the formalities and get down to business," Lady Violet suggested, stirring some milk into her tea.

"Is it so hard to believe I'd pay you a call for the sake of your company?" Anthony asked pleasantly. "We used to be quite frequent visitors before the war, if you'll recall."

"Anthony, that was eight years ago. And before you married my Granddaughter. I think we're past formal invites for the sake of social propriety. No one could accuse you of scheming, but I know you have a reason for coming here today, without Edith. As pleasant as you are to chat with, why don't you end the suspense?"

Anthony smiled warmly and nodded. "Very well. I wanted to talk to you about Edith."

"So I gathered."

"And," Anthony said firmly, "About the row you had the other day."

"Oh, I don't know that I'd chalk it up to more than a little disagreement," Violet scoffed, uncomfortable with Anthony's forthrightness.

"But you see, to Edith it _was_ much more than just that. It's so important to Edith that she have the support and approval of the family, and she left dinner feeling quite certain she would never receive it."

"So she sent you here to reason with me?" Violet asked curtly.

Anthony, calm as ever, said, "Edith doesn't know I'm here, and she probably won't be pleased when I tell her. I came because it is important to me that Edith is happy."

"Edith has never done what she's been told, when it matters to her. I'm sure she'll do as she pleases."

"Ah, that's just it. The things that matter to her always seem to meet resistance, don't they? Edith has a tendency to be rather compliant so her feelings are easily forgotten. I understand, I suppose, but I don't believe she should always have to fight for what she wants, especially when it matters to her, as you say."

"What is it you're asking me to do?" Violet asked, neither admitting nor denying Anthony's mild accusation.

"I suppose I'm asking you to consider Edith, really consider her. I'm not saying you need agree with her on every little thing, of course." Anthony paused, glancing up from his biscuit to gage Lady Violet's mood. Deciding it needed to be said regardless, he straightened a bit. "But perhaps you could be less dismissive of her, and not take her for granted."

Violet was quiet for a long time, unused to being called-out in such an honest and blatant manner. Anthony was not playing games, nor was he creating conflict. The stuttering, stooping man she once thought bumbling and dull was staring her directly in the eye and pleading on behalf of his wife for little more than some human regard.

"I see," the old woman mused, looking at him sideways as she mulled over his words. "I would never consider Edith submissive," she finally said.

"Oh neither would I. But don't mistake her silence for indifference. Edith cares, very much, and though she hides it fiercely, I believe it hurts her that she gets no credit with you, or Robert and Cora for that matter, and until very recently from Mary either."

After another contemplative moment, Violet sighed. "Mary had the beauty, and Sybil the headstrong sweetness. Edith, obedient and self-reliant child that she was, never needed attention like the other two."

"Everyone needs some degree of attention," Anthony argued gently. "I think Edith's spent enough time waiting for it."

Violet narrowed her eyes, not in a menacing way, but one that suggested she was coming to a realization. "You care very much about her?"

"More than anything. More than I thought was possible," Anthony answered quickly. His assurance in the matter stunned her.

"I underestimated you, Anthony."

"I underestimated myself. And Edith as well, I think."

Lady Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham, and Sir Anthony of Locksley Park examined one another for a long time with only the sound of their respective tea cups clinking against their saucers to break the silence.

"It's not that I have trouble admitting when I'm wrong," Violet finally qualified, "But that it does not usually come up. But I will admit that Edith has too often been overlooked. All great families have an outsider or two, you see, and I'm afraid Edith is ours. Even when Sybil ran away with the chauffeur she wasn't as 'out' as Edith always has been."

The words cut Anthony, which surprised him. Knowing how remarkable Edith was, what a gift it was just to be in her presence, he suddenly felt the searing rejection she'd experienced most of her life as though it was his own. To think the talented, charming, vibrant woman he'd married spent so many years feeling inadequate and unloved sent a pain through him that he would not soon recover from.

"But," Violet continued, "I assure you she is still part of the family, and while we may not always, god know, comprehend the things she does, she will always be that. You have to know, Anthony, that every fight we've given Edith has been with the intention of protecting her."

"And how can you presume to protect something you don't attempt to understand?" Anthony shot back without thinking. Immediately regretting his words, he dropped his head to the side and took a steadying breath. "I'm sorry."

Lady Violet looked scandalized for a moment, and Anthony waited for an icy retort. But it didn't come. Instead, her grey eyes flashed away in an attempt to hide the emotion in them, as her gaping mouth clamped shut.

"You're not wrong," she finally admitted, folding her shaking hands in her lap.

Anthony, in the many years the Strallans had known the Crawleys, had never seen Lady Violet look so remorseful. Had it been anyone but Edith he was fighting for, he would have felt terribly guilty. But it _was_ Edith that they were discussing, his Edith, and he was not leaving until all was remedied.

Deciding he couldn't possibly lose any more favor with the old woman, Anthony laid everything out before her. "I love Edith completely and deeply and profoundly. I realize it is uncouth to say as much, but there you have it. I wouldn't be here having this conversation with you if I didn't. All I'm asking, Lady Violet, is that you endeavor to not make Edith feel so unwanted and so alienated from the family. Because I know how much she cares about all of you, and I can't bear to see her suffer."

"Very well," Violet muttered. Her expression was somewhere between fear and awe.

Anthony felt relieved to have spoken his mind without too much repercussion.

"Why weren't you this assertive two years ago?" Violet asked suddenly, something akin to admiration in her voice.

"Because, if you'll forgive my language, I was a damnable fool."

"And what's changed?"

"I can't say, exactly, but I have a feeling the answer lies somewhere with your middle granddaughter."

"No doubt," Violet agreed quietly. "No doubt about that at all."

When Anthony returned home that afternoon he found Edith and Mary sitting on the floor of the room which was to be the nursery. It was a bright room, with a deep window seat and floral molding at the ceilings. Edith had picked a wonderfully warm yellow for the walls, which paired nicely with the white woodwork. The sisters had various fabrics laid out before them, and some wallpapers, and Edith was holding a corduroy bunny in her lap.

"Hello," Anthony called from the doorway. Edith looked over her shoulder with a great smile.

"Oh, darling, just in time. Help me up, would you?" Edith asked, holding out both her hands.

Mary, thinking Anthony might struggle with only one hand at his disposal, hopped up to help. Before she'd even straightened her skirt Anthony had taken the room in three great strides and effortlessly pulled Edith to her feet as though she were a stray branch he was moving from the path.

"Getting everything ready for the baby?" he asked conversationally, unabashedly kissing his wife. He couldn't bring himself to care that Mary was present, not after his tea with Violet. And she didn't seem to mind a bit.

"I'm rubbish with fabrics and things, but Mary picked these out, what do you think?" Edith asked, gesturing to the sweet taupes and creams in various patterns.

"Lovely," he smiled. "Thank you for helping my wife, Mary. I'd do anything in my power to make her happy but my knowledge when it comes to linen and paper is rather ghastly."

"I've got to do something to keep busy I suppose," Mary sighed. She arched an eyebrow at Edith and added, "We don't all have husbands who are joined to us at the hip."

Edith leaned into Anthony, aware that for the first time in their lives Edith had something Mary wanted instead of the other way around. But there was no animosity over it, no quarreling like they would have done as children, only a silent and mutual appreciation of life's luxuries.

Wishing to change the sentiment Mary took a deep breath and clapped her hands together. "Well, I'm going to go. Matthew and Papa have been working with Tom and the tenants around the new setup and they'll be home soon. Matthew will want to talk about it, I'm sure."

"We'll see you out," Anthony said, moving to hold the door for Mary and Edith, but Mary stopped him.

"Oh, please don't bother. I know my way around by now. See you soon," and she was gone.

Anthony looked around the empty room again before turning back to his wife. Edith was watching him with a knowing grin. The afternoon sun filled the already yellow room and cast gold light against her profile, giving the illusion that she was literally illuminated from within. Her hand pressed against the small of her back and her cream blouse, tight over her belly, made her beautiful skin seem ever richer.

He ached with love for her.

"What on earth did you do today?" she asked.

"I had tea with your grandmother. Lovely woman, not at all intimidating," he said in that dry, sarcastic humor he had.

Edith's eyes widened. "You did? By yourself? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you weren't invited, my pet," he answered, stepping closer to her with a devious smile.

"I see. And what did you and Granny talk about over your tea?"

"You, of course," he muttered, leaning down to nibble her neck. Her bobbed hair smelled of lavender and brushed just so against his face. He could hear her breath hitch just a bit when he pulled against her hip with his hand and kissed her ear.

"Me, of course? Anthony, were you dueling with Granny on my behalf? I wish you wouldn't bother. The woman will never change and that's just fine."

"No dueling, and no bother, and it's not fine, but I think we may have sorted a few things," he rattled off, distracted by her hands as one wrapped around the small of the back and the other slipped into his sling.

Edith pulled her head away from him for a moment so that she might look into his eyes. "Thank you, whatever you've done or said I appreciate it."

"You needn't thank me for being your husband. That's all I was doing."

"I hate to disillusion you regarding the rest of your sex, but I don't believe most men feel the same way you do about the role and duties of 'husband' Anthony," she smiled.

"Well why didn't one of them say something and save me all this trouble? Scoundrels."

Edith laughed heartily. "I love you madly."

"I'm glad," he whispered seriously, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to Edith's.

They held each other for a long while, both utterly aware that no matter what they had, whatever they were told, and regardless of which shade of tan the baby's bedding was going to be, everything that mattered in the world was between them now—each other and their child.

"Dearest?" Anthony asked gently, peering down at her with a droll raise of his brow, "Lovely as these fabrics are, would you care to examine the linens on our bed with me before Mrs. Bass lays out supper?"

"We're not eating for at least another three hours," Edith replied.

"Precisely," he growled into her ear. His voice, thick and husky, sent a thrill through her and she melted at her very core.

"I suppose I could be amenable to that, yes," she teased, turning primly and walking out of the nursery. He held her greedily from behind as they moved down the hall toward their room, pressing against her while they walked. Her smell, the warmth of her through her grey sweater, the way she fit against him so easily—he was done in by her, always and in so many ways.

In their room Edith turned to him, flushed and eager. She slipped his cardigan from his shoulders and began on the buttons of his shirt. He watched her bite her red, full lip and momentarily losing patience, interrupted to kiss her voraciously. Letting go of his usual reserve, he did not toy with her today. He urged her mouth open and ran his tongue along hers before she pushed him back gently. He pulled slightly on her bottom lip as they separated.

Edith, breathless and rather caught off guard, gave him a deliciously daring smirk. "You keep this up and you might send me into early labor," Edith warned jokingly.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Anthony said before continuing where he left off.


	29. A Garden Party

"Are you sure you're feeling up to it, dearest? It's not too late to call," Anthony offered, rubbing his wife's petite feet as they were propped on a pillow in his lap. They had eaten their breakfast on the sofa in the day room, the dining room chairs being too uncomfortable for even one meal.

"No, I really do want to go. Normally I wouldn't be so keen, but Mary seemed particularly eager that we attend. It's just the garden party. I will plant myself in the shade of the tent and be perfectly fine."

"And you'll tell me the moment you're uncomfortable?"

"Anthony, my dear husband, don't take this the wrong way, but I am days away from having your child and I am never not uncomfortable. It's one afternoon. Whether I'm achy and sleepless here or there is no matter at this point."

Anthony sighed. "I wish there was something I could do for you."

Edith smiled appreciatively and reached for his hand. "You're wonderful. Anyway, Dr. Clarkson doesn't think it should be too much longer now."

It was the last week of May, and Edith had been having more and more difficulty sleeping at night. The weight of their child pulled on her back and ribs, and pressed into her hips, and everything seemed to ache. She slept little, between the discomfort and the absolutely absurd number of times she had to haul herself out of bed and into the bathroom every night. And her darling Anthony, she knew, was suffering for her.

"Well if you're serious about going, we should be leaving soon."

"Alright," she sighed, swinging her feet to the floor and holding her hands for Anthony to hoist her off the couch.

Large as he knew she felt, Anthony thought she'd never looked better. He'd seen enough pregnant women in his life to know that this late stage is usually accompanied with swelling and waddling and other such things. But Edith—his exquisite, placid, darling Edith—exhibited none of this. Her swelling was limited to that of her great belly, perfectly and symmetrically round with their child, and she moved with a grace that was almost emphasized by the pregnancy, not hindered by it.

Of course, if Anthony tried to explain this phenomenon to his beloved wife, she would arch a brow and roll her eyes and kiss his cheek and thank him for his effort. Anthony decided, pregnant or not, Edith would never believe herself to be as beautiful as she actually was.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, kneading her lower back with both hands.

"You, my love. Always."

Edith laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled admiringly. "I think we're going to be alright."

"How do you mean?" he asked, puzzled.

"I love you, of course. But the fact that I can stand here, the size of a planet, with your child stretched into my ribs and pressing on my bladder and my bones, knowing full well you put her there, and still be dizzy with love for you, well that says something."

Anthony laughed lightly, his joy undermined only by the helpless sympathy he felt for her, before taking Edith's hand in his and kissing it softly. "I take full responsibility. And I don't envy you a bit, my Edith."

"Now, let's go before I change my mind, alright?"

As they waited for Samson to pull the car around, Anthony pulled a little package from his morning jacket and handed it to Edith.

"What's this?" she asked skeptically.

"I realize you've forgotten what day it is, but I have not."

"And what day is that?"

"It's our one year anniversary."

"It is not! Our anniversary isn't for another week," she said impatiently.

"Not our wedding anniversary, dear one," he whispered close to her ear.

Edith blushed despite herself and unwrapped the small, flat box. "Stationary," she said, looking up at him. "It's charming."

"I ordered a whole crateof it. I want you to start writing to me again."

"What?"

"I used to love your letters, back before the first attempt, and I think it's a shame they should stop just because we spend most of our waking hours together."

"We spend our sleeping hours together too," she pointed out.

"Indeed. But I still miss your letters. You know, we've a legacy in writing of our lost year. I'd like to make a new one now that we're together, and happy. I'll write to you too. And we can leave them in various locations, and that way we'll be sure to say everything we want to every day."

"You're the most foolishly romantic man I've ever met. No one would ever guess, but you really are," Edith said breathlessly, pitching her arms around his neck. "Thank you for this. It's lovely, really and truly. It's brilliant."

"Good, so we'll start tonight?"

"Agreed," she said, letting him from her grasp only when Samson pulled the motor to a stop before them.

The moment Carson opened the door at Downton, Edith knew something was amiss. For one thing, he greeted her has 'Lady Edith' instead of 'Lady Strallan,' per his usual, impersonal custom. For another, he smiled, really smiled at her.

"You'll find everyone gathered on the terrace, Milady," Carson said jovially.

Edith managed a thank you through her confusion, even as she frowned at the suspicious arrangements of white roses and pink peonies and stargazer lilies and blue hydrangeas in the great hall.

"Something is going on," she muttered to Anthony, taking his arm as they moved for the back lawn.

"I believe you are correct," he replied, equally as bewildered.

When they reached the terrace, Edith was astounded. There, all clad in white and cream and beige and tan, was the entire Crawley family, Tom and the girls, and Anthony's sister from London, Aunt Rosamund, about a dozen old friends from the village, and the Lesters. Anyone, really, who had known Edith and Anthony as Edith and Anthony. And every one of them was applauding as the couple arrived, and smiling gaily. In the tent was an absolutely marvelous spread of food, and a great three-tiered cake with sugar flowers.

"What on earth?" Edith muttered, trying to put it all together. She paled slightly, gripping Anthony to steady herself.

He was about to ask if it was just the surprise, when Cora stepped forward, both her hands held out to the Strallans. "We never got to throw you a proper wedding party, and we figured what better time than now," she gushed, pulling both of them down the lawn to their waiting guests.

"We would have done it on your actual anniversary, but extenuating circumstances being what they are, we didn't care to risk it," Mary added, conspicuously eyeing Edith's largely pregnant belly.

"Are you surprised?" Tom asked, kissing Edith on the cheek. "It's been a helluva time keeping it under wraps."

"I'm speechless," Edith stammered, greeting the rest of her eagerly waiting family.

Anthony, usually of few words among a large group, simply said, "It's very, very kind. Thank you."

Mary, leaning in to kiss Anthony's cheek whispered, "Don't tell her I said, but it was Granny's idea."

The party was lovely. Anthony's sister, who was very like him in her warmth and humility, was quite doting on Edith, lamenting she didn't get down to see them more often. "I will have an excuse now, of course," she smiled, rubbing Edith's stomach with a wink.

During the toasts, Mr. Lester relayed his utter confusion that fated night, one year ago, when their dinner party was broken up. All the attendees laughed at his retelling, particularly the description of everyone's reaction when, fifteen minutes after Edith and Anthony's parting, Lord Grantham returned and announced they were engaged to be married. The Strallans, who'd never even thought to ask what happened after they left, were in stitches.

Matthew and Tom officially welcomed Anthony into their self-proclaimed 'Band of Brothers,' and thanked him for helping "even out the teams of Crawleys versus In-Laws." Though it was partly in jest, Edith knew how touched Anthony was that he had such excellent friends in the young men.

As Robert stood, champagne glass in hand, Edith's breath hitched slightly and she gripped Anthony's leg under the table.

Robert began his speech with a contemplative frown. "It's remarkable what can happen in one year. No matter how much I experience, or how old I get, it always surprises me. In the past year we've seen old friends come home at long-last," and he gestured to Mr. Bates, who was standing in the back with the rest of the staff. "We've seen a great many changes on this estate, and many others in our village. The Grantham House won the cricket match for the first time in far too long," to which there were many enthusiastic cheers. "We've welcomed a new arrival," and he smiled at little Sybil, who was gurgling in Cora's arms, "and we've experienced great loss."

He paused as all remembered dear Sybil for a moment. Edith's eyes instinctively flashed to Tom, who picked up Madeline and kissed her hair.

With a deep breath, Robert continued. "But we are here today to celebrate a marriage. And one, I am man enough to admit, that was far, far overdue. When I look at my daughters, and granddaughters, I am heartened, because I realize that some things never change. Family, friendship, love—those are the things that endure. Edith and Anthony, you are a testament to the power and patience of love, and I congratulate you on reminding us all what is of true value in life. Here's to you, and to the next year, and many, many more."

Robert raised his glass as to a collective "Hear-hear" from the rest of the party, before waving his hand and saying, "Anyway, enough of this sentimental nonsense. Let's cut into that cake, eh? It is raspberry, I believe Anthony, in honor of your first dinner with us."

Only a small few understood the joke, but those who did laughed heartily, Anthony most of all.

As the party parted Edith stood, as quickly as she could manage, and made her way to her Papa. She'd never been prouder, in that moment, to be a Crawley. "Thank you, Papa. That was lovely," she said, trying to hug him. Robert awkwardly took her hand in both of his, kissed it, and patted it softly as mumbled a few embarrassed words and excused himself.

Edith turned to Cora. "How a man can say something as sweet as that and then be too shy to hug his own daughter is beyond me," she grumbled with a laugh.

"It's not that he's shy," Mary said, coming up behind Cora. "It's that he's afraid if he squeezes you too hard he might send a baby skidding across the floor."

Edith laughed. "Poor Papa, he always was nervous about such things, and cursed with three daughters no less."

"And only granddaughters to boot," Mary added.

"For now," Cora said, reaching a hand to Edith's tummy. "Maybe we'll get a grandson yet."

"Not this time, Mama," Edith smiled, looking down. "I know it's a girl."

"You know no such thing. I was certain Robert was a girl and Rosamund a boy," Granny said, joining the others. She winked at Edith to ensure it was all in good humor.

"Well we'll find out soon enough regardless, I should think," Cora concluded.

Edith nodded distractedly and looked for Anthony. He was standing with Matthew, Tom, and his sister, laughing. She saw mostly his boyish curls, and the broad span of his back, but as he looked to his right at something Tom was saying, she caught a glimpse of his eyes and that wonderfully lopsided smile. She tried to imagine being there, in that moment, looking at anyone else in Anthony's place and simply couldn't fathom it.

Anthony seemed to feel her eyes on him, because he turned, glancing over his shoulder, and caught her staring. With a quick word to the others, he came toward her.

"Hello, wife," he muttered, taking her in his arm as she laid her head against his chest.

"Hello husband."

"Eight years, almost three proposals, two weddings, and one baby on the way and I can finally make it right."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't you remember the last time we attended a garden party here?"

Edith smiled fondly. "Back when I was a child and you were shy and Mary was…"

"Pure evil," he muttered.

"Yes, indeed," Edith laughed. "When you were first going to propose but ran away instead."

"Well, if today is about reparations, as I suspect it is, let me make mine as well."

"Go on then."

"Be my wife?"

"I'll think about it," she said coolly, holding him tighter.

"Perhaps Mary's evil nature is a genetic quality?"

"Oh Anthony, I'm yours completely and you know it."

"I didn't always, but I'm glad to say I do now."

In a rare public display, Anthony took Edith's chin in his hand and kissed her sweetly, and passionately, on her soft and waiting lips.

As the sun faded behind the trees and the cool early-summer evening settled on the happy party, Edith and Anthony said their goodbyes. Making their way to the waiting car, Edith sighed.

"That was perfect. Thank you."

"Don't thank me; it was your Grandmother's idea. I was just as surprised as you."

"Yes, but you've made them change their view of me. I'm not sure how, exactly, but I know you have."

"Perhaps," he allowed, taking her hand in his. Anthony was surprised to find it somewhat clammy as she tensed and let go.

"Are you finally going to tell me what's wrong?" Anthony asked gently. "You've been strange all day."

"I'm fine," she said, looking away.

"Not very convincing, dear one," he muttered. They had come to a stop in the entry, the footman waiting with their things.

"Anthony, it's alright. I'm just having some pains," she hissed, less out of annoyance and more out of determination, as though saying it was nothing made it so.

"How long have you been having these pains?" he asked, working hard to hide his panic.

"Not long," she said. Finally meeting Anthony's eyes, her shoulders dropped as she conceded. "It started this morning. They're about every fifteen minutes now."

"Every fifteen minutes? Oh lord, are they really?"

Edith nodded solemnly.

"I don't know whether to be annoyed at your stubbornness or impressed that you've silently been in labor all damn day," Anthony said, his tone also somewhere between awe and frustration. His swearing was not an angry response, she knew. She smiled apologetically at him. "What on earth are we going to do with you?" he whispered fondly, kissing her forehead.

They held each other for a moment, smiling like fools at one another, until Edith flinched and bent slightly. One hand snapped to her belly as the other braced against Anthony's good arm.

"For now," she suggested calmly, working to steady her breath, "you might go fetch Mama and Mary, and perhaps ask Carson to call for Dr. Clarkson. And if Tom would be so good as to go get Anna, I'd like her with me."

"Don't you think you should stay here? Should you be travelling?"

"No, I'd much, much rather be home. It's a short drive, we have plenty of time still."

Anthony was steady, but energized. Edith even thought she detected a little giddiness. He kissed her temple again as the contraction passed and she straightened. "Alright, my love. Hold on. I'll rally the troops."

* * *

A/N: In the next installment we will finally meet the much anticipated Baby Strallan, and find out who gets to pick the name. :)

Thank you so, so much for following this story. I'm having such fun writing it and reading all your lovely reviews. Thank you! (And sorry, Baron, to draw out the suspense. :)


	30. Arrival

Edith and Anthony were both very calm and relaxed, which seemed to have a nullifying effect on everyone else's worry. Anthony took Edith straight home, while the others arrived shortly after. Robert brought Mary and Cora, then Tom and Matthew brought Anna as Edith had requested. Lady Violet and Cousin Isobel had come as well, and brought with them some knitting and things. Mrs. Bass prepared for a long night for all, making up cold-cut sandwiches on fresh rolls and pots of tea and trays of cookies. The whole of Locksley was on high alert.

Edith had been almost comfortable until her waters broke, which happened just after Anna had brushed into her bedroom. Now the contractions were harder and longer and far more intense.

"Okay," Edith whispered, warning the other women and preparing herself. She was standing beside the bed, both fists buried into the mattress as she braced herself against the pain, rocking slightly. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe, as her shoulders hunched in agony. Anna ran her palm in circles against Edith's lower back, murmuring little encouraging words. Cora and Mary made themselves useful, folding the freshly laundered linens Mrs. Watson had brought up.

When it was over, Edith let out a small groan of relief. "They're really coming fast now. How long did Dr. Clarkson say he'd be?"

"He promised he'd be here in time," Cora answered. "Mary, would you go and check?"

"No, no, it's alright," Edith said with a wave of her hand. "He'll get here when he gets here. Mama, could you please hand me that glass of water?"

The three women surrounding Edith exchanged a skeptical glance.

Edith, ever observant, asked, "What?"

"I'm no expert, but aren't you supposed to be crying and demanding and, I don't know, terrified?" Mary questioned.

"When has Lady Edith ever done as she's supposed to?" Anna asked quietly, offering Edith a proud smile.

"You're doing very well, my darling. But pace yourself, and don't be afraid to ask for help," Cora said softly.

"I'm alright. Women do this every day," Edith said, more for her own sake than anyone's. "Panicking certainly isn't going to do anyone any good. Speaking of which, would one of you go check on Anthony, please? I hate to think of him down there worrying."

"I'll go," Mary offered, turning quickly out of the room.

It all felt strangely familiar. Though the roles were slightly shifted, all the same players were in attendance; except, of course, for one. _Please don't let it be like that awful night_, Mary pleaded to no one as she reached the library. She closed her eyes and collected herself before entering.

All eyes snapped to her expectantly. There was an undeniable tension in the room, the memories of Sybil's death hanging over them like a damp fog. Everyone felt it but no one dared acknowledge it. Even Tom, whose sadness often read in his eyes like the morning's headlines, was putting up a brave front for Anthony.

"Edith wanted me to run down and tell you, everything is fine. It's almost eerie, actually. She hasn't made a peep and keeps telling _us_ to calm down."

Anthony managed a fond smile. "That sounds like my Edith."

"Well she's doing beautifully. She thinks it might be close, though. Is Dr. Clarkson near?"

"I imagine he should be here any time," Robert assured.

"And you, Anthony? How are you holding up?"

Anthony gave a knowing grin. "Tell Edith I'm perfectly well and to stop worrying about me, please."

Mary smiled. They didn't need a messenger—the two Strallans could communicate perfectly well without her help.

"Very well, I'll be getting back," she muttered.

Matthew followed her to the hall. "How is she really?"

"I wasn't softening things. She really is handling it like a champion. I've never seen anything like it. And Anthony?"

"Quiet. Stoic, even. He hasn't taken his eyes off that door all night."

"Thank you," Mary said, kissing his cheek. "Do keep an eye on him."

"Careful, someone might think you care," Matthew teased, brushing her cheek before they parted.

Upstairs Mary sighed. "He's fine. Matthew said he's been very calm and stoic. He's watched the door all night."

"That's Anthony in a panic," Edith said without a hint of sarcasm. "Oh, I wish he wouldn't worry."

"I wish _you_ wouldn't worry," Cora said sternly, brushing Edith's hair behind her ear.

"Everyone will feel better when Dr. Clarkson arrives, I'm sure," Mary said, trying to appease all.

Edith frowned again, blowing heavily through the contraction. "Is he coming by boat for God's sake?" Edith managed, clutching the bed post with white knuckles.

"No, by train, from London," Clarkson corrected gently, ducking into the room. "But I wouldn't have missed this for anything."

A tangible relief settled in the room.

"And how are we doing?" he asked, rolling his sleeves and washing his hands at the basin.

"Oh, just a typical night in for me," Edith huffed, straightening after the strain of her contraction. She even smiled a little at her joke.

"Don't be so impressed with your own cleverness," Mary teased, running a cold cloth over Edith's neck.

"Let's see how far we've come, hmm?" Dr. Clarkson asked.

Downstairs, the gentlemen waited quietly, only the sound of the great clock to fill the silence.

"She's much stronger than any of us gave her credit for, Anthony," Robert suddenly said. Anthony turned, totally unaware his father-in-law had been watching him.

"Stronger than I'll ever be, I dare say," he agreed, forcing a limp smile. Robert recognized the worried expression, but had no words of comfort.

An hour passed, and then another. Anthony was in agony, longing to speak with Edith, to know she was alright. He knew she would be, but he didn't like not being with her. It felt unsettling, after being so very much together for the last year. Her absence unnerved him and made him restless. He sighed and ran his hand over his face, but didn't sit. Instead he paced a few times, then turned back to that damned door between his library and the hall and waited.

It was well after two in the morning when Clarkson finally said Edith could begin pushing. Edith was lying in the middle of the bed, Mary at one side and Anna at the other, while Cora kneeled beside her, trying to help her focus.

"Alright," Clarkson said gently, "With your next contraction I'd like you to try-"

"No," Edith suddenly said, propping herself up with one hand as the other cradled her stomach. "No, I can't do this."

"Edith, you've done beautifully, my darling girl. You're nearly there now," Cora cooed.

"No, I mean, I can't do it alone. I need Anthony."

Cora laughed lightly at her daughter, giving her knee a patronizing pat. "Edith, you don't know what you're saying."

"I do, in fact. Please will you go get him?"

"Edith, think of what you're asking. It simply isn't done," Cora said firmly.

Edith turned to Anna, who was holding her hand. "We do everything together, he's my best friend, and I can't do this without him. Please, please get him."

Anna looked to Cora and said quietly, "All due respect, Milady, I think we should give her what she wants right now."

"You can't really want him to see you like this," Cora scoffed.

Mary threw her hands in the air and growled in frustration. "Oh Mama, enough! I'll go get him," Mary said, ignoring Cora's protests. "Really, how you can be so conventional tonight after everything we've been through is beyond me," she grumbled, storming out of the room.

When Mary entered the library, she was surprised to see that everyone was still awake, and Anthony looked quite alive.

"Well it's not as though I was going to get any sleep anyway," Violet said in response to Mary's expression.

"What is it, has the baby come?" Isobel asked eagerly.

Mary turned to Anthony, who was waiting on tenterhooks for Mary to speak.

"No, not yet. She's asked for you, Anthony."

"Surely you can't mean she wants him to go up there now?" Robert asked incredulously, but Anthony was already out the door. Mary followed, though she had trouble keeping up as Anthony calmly but swiftly took the stairs.

Anthony rushed into their room without hesitation and went directly to his wife. Edith, red-faced and breathing heavily, was visibly relieved. Anthony sat on the edge of the bed, facing Edith and giving her his left hand. The others in the room reverently backed away, trying not to listen as Anthony and Edith spoke in hushed voices.

"Hello, wife," he said, offering her a tender smile.

"Hello, husband," she muttered. Her great brown eyes were filled with gratitude as they stared at each other.

"Mary mentioned you wanted to see me?" he said casually. Edith nodded, gripping his arm and sweater tightly as though he might disappear. Anthony, knowing she needed a moment to tell him what was troubling her, tried to soothe her nerves. "You should see all the people downstairs, darling, and the spread Mrs. Bass made. Edwards brought blankets. Our library looks like a refugee camp for the upper class."

Edith laughed thinly, closing her eyes and holding him tighter as another contraction came and went.

"I'm sorry," Edith finally whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to be brave. I just…needed you. It seems silly now that you're here. If you're uncomfortable please don't feel like you have to stay."

"_Have_ to stay? Where else would I be?"

"Really? You don't mind?"

"Of course not, darling," he said, kissing her clammy forehead.

"I don't know why I ever thought I could do this without you."

"We'll learn eventually," he said sincerely.

Edith looked up at him then, tears spilling over her eyes. "I'm not ready, Anthony," she cried. "I'm not ready to do this yet."

"It seems someone's forgotten to tell the baby. She's ready now."

"I'm scared."

Anthony sighed, placing his hand on Edith's neck and pressing his forehead to hers. "I know you are, darling. But I'm here, and I've no doubt in my mind you're ready for this."

"Really?"

"Really. Oh, my dearest, we're going to be wonderful parents. We love each other so well, there's no earthly way we couldn't be," Anthony said with a smile. Kissing her lightly and brushing away her tears, he straightened. "Now, may I please meet my child?" Anthony asked with a grin.

Edith nodded with a relieved smile, sitting up with a deep and affirming breath.

"I'm here, just hold onto me. We do it together, right?" Anthony asked.

"We do it together," she agreed. All the fear was gone from her face now, and it was replaced with the signature Edith determination.

The Strallans had been oblivious to the four other people in the room, who had been watching the unusually frank display in awe. Now that Edith had been bolstered, and had Anthony's left arm in both her hands as she propped against the pillows, she nodded to them.

Dr. Clarkson approached the bed again, as did the others.

"Alright Lady Edith," Clarkson said kindly, "with your next contraction I want you to hold your breath, put your chin to your chest, and push down with all your strength."

Edith did as she was told, never making a sound and never once taking her eyes from Anthony's. He murmured encouraging words to her, breathing with her between pushes and holding his breath with her during her contractions. "That's it, my love, that's it. You're doing it," he muttered as Dr. Clarkson announced the baby's head was out.

With one final push and a single grunt of exertion, Edith finally brought Baby Strallan into the world. She laughed once, almost giddy with relief, and fell into Anthony's chest.

Dr. Clarkson took the baby to the table, cleaning it off and checking for issues.

"Well done, you," Anthony laughed, holding Edith close against him. "Very well done."

Cora, Anna, and Mary offered their own emotional congratulations as the baby began to wail and Edith's red cheeks glowed with pride. An overwhelming sense of release filled the room as the tension and fear drifted away and the joy of a new life warmed them all.

Dr. Clarkson handed the baby to Cora as Edith and Anthony watched and waited in anticipation. Cora approached the bed, bobbing her swaddled grandchild gently in her arms, and said, "Edith, Anthony, meet your daughter."

As Cora laid the little pink-faced thing in her daughter's arms, Edith looked down at her in wonder. "Oh," she managed. "Oh my."

Anthony shifted behind Edith, allowing her to lean against his chest as he peered down at their child. "I have a daughter," he mumbled, absolutely in awe of the tiny creature. As it sank in, he and Edith began to laugh. "We have a daughter," he repeated more ardently with a wide grin. He kissed Edith's temple as they laughed and cried, looking down at their child. "Oh look at her, she's beautiful."

"She's perfect," Anna said.

"Another girl," Mary added, wiping her own surprising tears from her eyes.

"And what is my third granddaughter to be called?" Cora asked.

Edith looked up at all of them, absolutely glowing with pride, unable to dim her giddiness. "I'd like to call her Violet Mae," she said, looking up at Anthony for approval.

Edith glanced to Anna, whose lip began to quiver despite herself. Edith wasn't sure if anyone besides Anthony knew the Mae was for Anna, but her friend knew, and that's what mattered to the new mother.

"I couldn't have chosen better myself," Anthony whispered, running his hand over Violet Mae Strallan's head.

The Strallan family—for they were a family now—sat quietly on the bed together for a long while, Edith and Anthony admiring their little accomplishment. After a time, Edith took a deep breath and said, "Alright. Anthony, why don't you take Violet Mae to meet her family, and we'll finish up here? Then everyone can finally turn in and get some rest."

She transfered the baby into the crook of Anthony's left arm with a ease that doesn't often come to new parents. But Anthony had been right. Together he and Edith could do anything, and so had very little to worry about. Before he stood, Anthony looked from his daughter to his wife, unabashed tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Thank you, my sweet one. Thank you for giving me my life. I'm very proud of you. And I love you so very much. Both of my girls."

"I love you," she smiled, kissing Baby Violet's head, and then Anthony. "Now go. Our child has quite the crowd waiting for her downstairs."

As Anthony carried his daughter down the grand staircase at Locksley, he tore his eyes away from her for a moment to look around. It was the same house he'd haunted, alone, for most of his life. The furnishings were largely the same, the walls were certainly the same, the great paneled windows and the large wood doors. But every centimeter had changed. Upstairs his wife was resting in their room, in the library a rather large and, despite the past, loyal family was waiting, and in his arm the single most perfect thing he'd ever done was gurgling and kicking and looking up at her papa with his own big eyes.

He'd thanked Edith for giving him his life, and as he stepped into the library to a roar of cheers and congratulations, he repeated the words to himself. Edith, the woman he'd walked away from not once but twice, had given him his life; passionate love, a home, a family, and a child. As Anthony passed her off to Isobel to be admired, he felt drunk with gratification and adoration. Of one thing he was certain: Anthony Strallan would spend every minute of every day he had left in his life as the happiest and most grateful man on the planet.

Edith opened her eyes, the blur of sleeplessness fading quickly with the realization that it was the sounds of her daughter that woke her. She sat up, grinning despite her exhaustion as she thought _I have a daughter, and she needs me_. The knowledge, too, that the rest of her family was sleeping peacefully in various guest rooms down the hall, and that soon Violet Mae would see her first ever sunrise, filled Edith with a miraculous sense of joy.

She leaned over the bassinet beside the bed, but found Violet was not in it. Frowning, Edith looked behind her. Standing at the window on the far end of the room, Anthony had Violet against his chest as he rocked slowly from foot to foot. Sensing Edith's gaze, he glanced over.

"I'm so sorry, did we wake you?"

"No," Edith yawned, standing gingerly and walking to her husband and daughter.

"She was awake, and I thought I'd show her the view of the orchards at sunrise," Anthony whispered. Edith took his bad arm and put it around her neck so she might settle against his chest, level with the baby. Anthony laid his cheek against her hair, resuming the swaying.

"She'll be hungry soon."

"Yes, I was going to let you rest as long as possible. You've had quite a night."

"We all have," Edith said with a laugh, running her hand across Violet's little back.

Standing there, wrapped in Anthony's arms with their daughter, watching the sun come up over Locksley, Edith realized she'd found it. Years of feeling out of synch, of feeling misunderstood and awkward and alone, she'd finally found the place where she belonged, where she fit and was safe. And she did fit, tucked under Anthony's chin as she was, with their daughter.

"Ah," Anthony whispered as the sun cleared the far hills. "Welcome to your first morning, my little one. And good morning to you, my dearest Edith."

"Good morning, my Anthony," Edith muttered with a smile. "Your first as Papa."

"Our first as a family, I suppose," he mused, a bemused laugh in his voice.

"I've never seen a sunrise look so perfect," Edith added, pulling tighter against her husband and watching the warm pinks and oranges from daybreak reflect on her daughter's tiny round face.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the length between updates! I sincerely hope I didn't disappoint your expectations and that I did justice to the happy family's arrival. :) As always, thank you for following and your reviews are greatly appreciated.

I think we're winding down here, maybe just a chapter or two left of epilogue. Thanks again to all you lovely readers for making my little endeavor worthwhile!


	31. Epilogue

The holidays had certainly taken on new meaning for the Crawley family. It wasn't so much that the traditions had changed, but that they had expanded. With the children came a renewed sense of family and vitality that filled Downton with a warmth and energy it hadn't ever seen in its many, many years.

This Christmas was certainly no exception. The addition of the next generation to their family gatherings made everything more enjoyable as far as Edith was concerned, but decidedly more chaotic as well.

Edith was sitting on the floor with Mary, leaning against the sofa, laughing at their husbands. Edith's daughters were crawling all over their Papa as he defended them against Mary's son, Charlie, and Matthew, and their army of tin soldiers. Madeline and Sybil squealed in delight as Tom scooped them up and dropped them into the bedlam with a roar.

The Strallan girls had come in quick succession: Violet Mae, Imogen Rose, and Cora Marie, all within four years of each other. Now six, five, and four, all three of them were remarkably different, just as Edith and her sisters had been.

Violet was the image of Anthony, with her blonde curls and sparkling blue eyes, and she also seemed to have his quiet patience. Her nurturing side, which showed when she doted on her sisters, Anthony attributed to Edith. Genny-Rose, as Anthony had come to call her, had Edith's coloring and demanding impatience, and was fiercely loyal and brave. Little Cora was all sweetness and kindness, and was very much a Crawley with her dark hair and eyes.

What they had in common, Edith was overjoyed to see, was that they adored each other almost as much as their most beloved Papa. The three of them were always hand-in-hand, dancing in the great hall, or picking flowers in the garden, or skipping in the lawn, or following Anthony around enjoying his infinite patience. And oh, how Edith loved it when they would run to her excitedly shouting, "Mama, Mama!" She was hardly ever away from them, which is exactly how she preferred it.

And at night, when she and Anthony would put them to bed, and he would read to the girls from "Peter and Wendy" or on more adventurous nights, "The Jungle Book," Edith would watch her daughters listening to their Papa, and she would fall in love with him all over again.

"What game are they playing exactly?" Robert asked with a laugh, swirling his brandy in his hands.

"I don't know, but I think it's safe to say the gentlemen are losing," Mary replied. "Anyway, little Andy seems to be enjoying it," she added, bouncing her one-year-old nephew on her lap.

Robert Anthony had taken his time to arrive, born three years after Cora Marie, but came he did, giving Anthony the son he never thought he'd have. Lord Grantham had insisted the boy go by Anthony, and young Cora had quickly changed that to Andy, being unable to pronounce 'Anthony' properly.

Edith watched her son clapping with his Aunt Mary, a wide grin stretching into his chubby cheeks and displaying his six teeth, of which he seemed very proud. Of her four children, Andy was easily the most exuberant and it was only a matter of days before he went from crawling straight to running.

"Watch out for this one, he's a flirt," Mary laughed. "And rather daring, I'd guess. He'll run you ragged."

"No doubt," Edith laughed.

"I don't know how you two do it. Matthew and I have been wholly occupied with our Charlie, dear that he is, and that's just one. I don't know how you make do with four. Or," Mary said, dropping her voice, "with five."

"At this point what difference could another make? Anyway, we're thrilled. I can't imagine Locksley without them."

Mary was the only one besides Anthony who knew that Edith was expecting again.

"When are you going to make the announcement?"

"Over dessert, probably, though my having a child must be old news to everyone by now."

Mary arched one of those elegant eyebrows. "I do believe it is common practice for couples to sleep in separate rooms after the first is born, no?"

"Oh god, I'm sure it is. But when have I ever practiced what is common?"

"Good thing Anthony seems to be aging backwards," Mary giggled, looking back to the brawl. Charlie, who looked like he could be Cora Marie's twin, had just launched himself over Anthony's good shoulder with a sort of warrior cry.

It was true, too. Though he was closer to sixty than fifty, he had the brilliance and energy of some men half his age. "It's what the love of a good woman will do for an old codger," Anthony had said recently, as he and Edith enjoyed that glorious time when the children were asleep and the house was still and they were naked under their sheets as if they were back on honeymoon. "Time has laid down for us, my darling, at least for now."

Edith sighed, beaming.

"You're nauseating, truly," Mary teased, nudging her with a bony elbow.

"Oh my goodness, it's like my family's been taken over by a tribe of feral people," Cora laughed, entering the morning room after having checked on supper. Sitting on the sofa behind her daughters, Cora said more quietly, "Could you imagine what your Granny would have said at this display?"

It would be three years in March since Granny had passed. She'd gone quite peacefully in her sleep. _Perhaps the only thing she'd ever done peacefully_, Edith thought wryly. Still, Lady Violet was sorely missed by her middle granddaughter, and probably always would be.

Anthony, slightly winded and laughing jovially, freed himself from the pile of children and crawled over to his wife. "You'll have to check for battle wounds later," he joked, kissing her cheek as he settled beside her.

"Promise?" she flirted, sending Mary's eyes rolling.

"Pappy," Madeline called, rushing to Robert. "When can we open our presents?"

"After luncheon, like every year," he answered sternly, trying to sound like the stuffy old man he imagined himself to be. But Edith noticed when he bent down and kissed Madeline on the top of her head.

"Your children are out of control," Anthony said to Edith and Mary. "They're like jungle animals, really. I'm afraid they'll never be assimilated into society."

"For which I blame you, Anthony" Mary laughed, handing off the baby to Edith. Addressing the children as she stood, she said, "Come, darlings, let's go wash our hands before we eat."

The five young ladies and Charlie followed the ever-beautiful Mary out of the room obediently.

"They're not animals. They're lovely and very well behaved," Cora said, reaching for Andy.

"For a madhouse, yeah," Tom laughed, "The whole lot of 'em." He and Matthew went to pour themselves a drink.

Cora, pressing her cheek to Andy's little blonde head said softly to Edith and Anthony, "You can joke, but I can't remember why I ever doubted you. Your children are dears."

Edith squeezed Anthony's hand, proud as ever of their little brood.

It was well past ten when the Strallans returned to Locksley that night. Cora and Andy were already asleep, and Violet and Genny weren't far behind. With the children tucked in, and a thin dusting of snow falling outside, Edith sat down to write Anthony her daily letter. They had trunks full of them at this point, dated and organized as most things were in Anthony's world.

She wrote in it of their day, of their customary Christmas pre-dawn love making, of the immense pride she felt, and how excited she was for the next baby.

_I have a feeling, just as I had with our other four children, about this baby's gender. But I'm not going to tell you. I'm going to try and keep it a secret and see how long it takes before you read it on my face. I'm guessing you'll know by noon tomorrow._

_Oh, I love you Anthony. Never in my life did I dream I could love so much. Mrs. Bass once said I had room enough in my heart for a dozen children. While I have a feeling this child will be our last, I think she had a point. Each time I think my heart is so full and big my chest can barely contain it, you smile, or hold one of our girls, and I realize it just keeps expanding. _

_Tonight, as you tucked Genny into bed, she asked you to kiss her rabbit goodnight. And you did, quite gladly. And you whispered, "good night my dearest girls," as you left the room. I don't know if you realize how rare you are, or how lucky my children are to have you as their father. But I know, and I will remind you of it every day for the rest of our lives. _

_If tomorrow we found ourselves destitute and friendless, living in a one bedroom shack, I think I would be the happiest and most charmed woman on earth. (Easy to say, of course, because you provide for us brilliantly and as I write I'm sitting in front of the crackling fire in our bedroom. Still, I think you understand me.)_

_Speaking of tomorrow, Mama and Papa are coming for tea and the farrier will be here all day shoeing the ponies. If the weather holds, I was thinking of having the children sit with their Grandparents so we could take one of our drives out to the creek, or a walk along the back orchard. It might be frightfully cold, but I'm certain we'll manage to stave off frostbite if we get terribly creative. And if all else fails, there's always the rather roomy tub in my bathroom. _

_You've just thrown your tie to the floor, a sure sign that bed is imminent while sleep is decidedly not. Even now I feel the giddy anticipation of that first night in the London house. Do you remember? Of course you do. But it's strange to think that those two people, so nervous and shy and lost, are now Anthony and Edith—parents of four (five) and still scandalizing poor old Edwards every other time we're left alone. _

_Merry Christmas, my darling Anthony, and thank you for making each and every day a treat. I'm thinking I will reward you now in the most mutually beneficial way I know, and when you read this tomorrow you'll blush at the memory. _

_Always and unreservedly,_

_Your Edith_

When Edith and Anthony fell asleep that night, they had no way of knowing what the next decades would bring. They didn't plan on opening their home to dozens of children during Operation Pied Piper, or to investing rather successfully in the hotel Anna and John Bates took over.

They didn't know that Violet would grow up to find love quite nearby, and that after the Second World War returned Jack Bates safely to Grantham village, that Anna and Edith would finally become related as mothers-in-law. Or that Genny-Bell, always driven, stubborn, and brilliant as her father, would become one of the first women to teach at Oxford. Or that Cora would become a very painter whose most favorite subject was the grounds of Locksley.

And had Edith and Anthony known that after they passed, their beloved son Andy would find and publish their letters in three volumes as the ultimate testament of endurance and courage, they probably would have left out a few of the more intimate details.

Neither did they know, or care to know, that Anthony would surprise everyone, including himself, by living to the age of ninety and never once losing the youthfulness Edith gave him. Or that Edith would follow him so shortly thereafter, as her children suspected she would, unable to live without him for more than a few weeks.

Nor did Edith and Anthony know that their youngest, Evelyn Louise, and all of the Strallan children would benefit so completely from the love their parents shared. They did not know that at Lady Edith Strallan's wake Evvy would stand and say of her mother,

_"Mama was a resplendent beauty, and it never faded. Happiness does wonderful things for a person, and she and Papa were happy every single day of our lives. That kind of love, well it's contagious. It's impossible not to be affected by it. My parents loved each other so well, so gloriously well, that it sort of spilled over onto all of us. They cared for us with such joy and kindness that even the hard things were manageable._

_"Even from a young age, I used to watch Mama and Papa, and I was aware of their particular way with each other. We all were. They were like magnets. Everything they did, everywhere they went, they moved together, functioned together as one. And we, as their children, were lucky enough to be with them._

_"A childhood marked with adventures and outings and games, Mama refused to let us wilt in classist boredom. And Papa was delighted by all of it. I think he was utterly, gladly bewildered by her until the day he died._

_"Once in a rare while something magic happens between two people. And that magic will last for generations. My children feel it, I think, and my nieces and nephews. And their children will feel it. They will benefit from the love of Edith and Anthony Strallan as my siblings and I do. We're all terribly, terribly lucky._

_"My mother, her beauty and her generosity of spirit, though she is no longer with us, they live on. I've no doubt at all that she and our beloved Papa are still together. Even now, even as we sit here I can feel it. Nothing is lost, or can be lost, when you love the way my Mama and Papa loved."_

No, that night as Edith and Anthony drifted off, they thought only of their sleeping children, and the one on the way, and their little plans for tomorrow, and for the New Year's party at Downton, and how absolutely content they were just to be lying in each other's arms.

* * *

A/N: I never, ever intended for this little jaunt to last 31 chapters and 60k words. It's a little crazy, really, looking back on it. But I am truly overjoyed and honored that you all followed it with me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

At the suggestion and encouragement of Jo, I will be doing a modern A/U where a slightly different Edith and Anthony meet in the world of academia, and I think we'll find that two people can be right for each other in any century. :)

Thank you again, lovely Andith Shippers and FanFic Readers. This first exercise in this little niche of a writing world has been a real joy.

Happy holidays, and best wishes.  
Eleanor.


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